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LETTERS  FROM  AN  AMERICAN 

GIRL  SERVING  WITH  THE  RANK  OF 

LIEUTENANT    IN  A  FRENCH 

ARMY  HOSPITAL  AT 

THE  FRONT 

WITH    A    PREFACE    BY 

DR.  RICHARD   C.  CABOT 


W.  A.  BUTTERFIELD 

59  BROMFIELD   ST. 
BOSTON 


Copyright,  1916 
w.  a.  butterfield 


FiKST  Printing,  June  21 
Bbcond  Feinting,  July  18 
Third  Printing,  July  29 
Fourth  Printing,  Octobir  23 


PREFACE 

■ • 

TNTIMATE,  holy,  comforting  things 
-*-  stand  here  and  there  unharmed  in 
the  wrecked  villages  of  France  and  Bel- 
gium,—  a  crucifix  still  erect,  a  sewing- 
machine,  a  baby's  cradle.  This  book 
tells  of  them.  But  the  record,  written 
"while  the  instruments  are  boiling  in 
the  sterilizer,"  is  itself  one  of  the  most 
intimate  and  holy  things  which  have 
been  saved  for  our  comfort  out  of  the 
whirlpool  of  embattled  Europe.  We 
need  the  message  to  keep  us  sane  as  we 
face  the  horrors  of  war ;  even  more  per- 
haps to  show  us  the  horrors  of  peace,  its 
awful,  silent  power  to  paralyze  our  facul- 
ties,—  till  they  are  released  by  the  fight 

[3] 


PREFACE 


against  war,  by  the  struggle  to  save  life 
and  to  banish  despair. 

What  the  writer  of  these  letters  did 
for  the  wounded  in  France  needs  no  re- 
telling here.  But  what  her  loving  care 
of  the  wounded  did  for  her,  and  might 
have  done  for  many  of  us,  her  unawak- 
ened  fellow  countrymen,  I  will  venture 
to  sum  up. 

Despite  her  fourteen  hours  daily  labor 
amid  the  blood  and  anguish  of  the  hos- 
pital she  "  begins  for  the  first  time  in  her 
life  to  feel  as  a  normal  being  should." 
Why?  Because  so  much  new  vigor  has 
been  born  in  her.  Under  the  divine  press- 
ure of  necessity  she  becomes  inventive 
as  well  as  competent.  The  very  tools  of 
her  trade  are  often  wanting.  Inspira- 
tions for  constructing  them  "out  of  noth- 
ing "  arise  in  her. 

[4] 


PREFACE 


Still  better  inspired  she  soon  becomes 
the  mother,  as  well  as  the  nurse,  of  her 
charges.  Her  touch  is  "as  light  as  a 
watchmaker's  "  ;  her  strength  suffices  to 
carry  a  sick  man  in  her  arms  from  his 
bed  to  the  operating-room,  and  "  there 
shall  be  a  towel  for  every  man  or  I  will 
go  undried."  But  when  at  the  end  of 
the  day  she  "  has  stuffed  cotton  under 
all  the  weary  backs  and  plastered  limbs," 
she  "  bids  all  my  children  good  night." 
Later  she  has  them  propped  on  their  pil- 
lows in  anticipation  of  the  Christmas  tree 
she  has  dressed  for  them.  Again  it  is  one 
of  her  "  children,"  dragged  back  from 
death  by  her  good  nursing,  but  still  only 
the  wan  shadow  of  a  man,  who  "  laughs 
and  tries  to  clench  his  fist  inside  the 
dressings  to  show  me  how  strong  he  is." 

He  laughs,  —  and  that  too  is  her  in- 

[5] 


PREFACE 


spiration.  "You  can't  imagine,  I  sup- 
pose, that  we  laugh  and  jest  all  day  long. 
If  you  can't  do  that,  you  may  as  well 
get  out,  for  all  the  good  you  will  ever  do 
a  wounded  soldier.  We  ought  to  be  joy- 
ous here  "  (and  she  can !)  "  even  if  men 
do  try  to  make  it  a  vale  of  tears ;  and  the 
more  suffering  I  see  the  more  I  think  so." 
How  good  the  gallant  laughter  sounds 
across  the  seas !  Surely  something  of 
humanity's  best  is  here,  not  saved  from 
the  wreckage  but  new  born  of  the  fiery, 
fertilizing  need. 

And  with  the  laughter  she  brings  color 
and  glory  too,  shaming  our  drab,  peace- 
ful lives.  "  The  sun  makes  gold  patches 
everywhere,  striking  through  the  trophy 
of  flags  that  I  have  arranged  at  the  end 
of  the  ward,  to  the  great  delight  of  the 
children." 

[6J 


PREFACE 


But  the  spirit  and  gallantry  of  her  sol- 
diers, who  sit  up  to  write  patriotic  verse 
between  paroxysms  of  pain,  is  not  mere 
light-heartedness.  They  teach  her  grave 
lessons  too.  ''  If  ever  I  doubted  how  to 
die,  my  black  pearl-fisher  from  Guade- 
loupe has  shown  me  the  way." 

I  find  in  these  letters  some  fragment 
of  true  Atonement  for  the  huge  sin  and 
blunder  of  the  war.  Some  deeds  of  the 
children  of  men  are  better  and  more 
beautiful  than  ever  they  would  have 
been  but  for  this  brave  struggle  to  re- 
trieve something  out  of  the  waste  and 
welter  of  evil. 

''  Designer  Infinite  !  Ah  !  must  Thou 
char  the  wood  ere  Thou  canst  limn 
with  it?" 

EICHARD   C.   CABOT. 


[7] 


INTRODUCTION 


"  ni  yrADEMOISELLE  MISS,"  as  her 
^»  J-  soldiers  call  her,  is  the  daughter 
of  an  ex-Medical  Director  of  the  United 
States  Navy.  At  the  outbreak  of  the 
war  she  was  in  France. 

Accepted  as  a  helper  in  a  small  French 
hospital  on  the  Riviera,  she  later  served  in 
an  Enghsh  hospital  at  Mentone.  There 
she  heard  that  an  examination  was  to  be 
held  for  a  nurse's  diploma  in  the  French 
Red  Cross.  She  studied  day  and  night, 
faced  nine  doctors  in  an  oral  examination 
of  two  and  a  half  hours,  and  passed  with 
credit.  Her  diploma  was  signed  by  the 
Minister  of  War ;  and  she  was  sent  to  the 

[9] 


INTRODUCTION 


front  as  a  member  of  the  regular  military 
organization.  She  serves,  with  the  rank 
of  lieutenant,  at  a  French  army  hospital 
near  the  trenches  of  the  Marne. 

These  letters,  written  in  the  heat  of 
action,  '^  for  one  and  for  one  only,"  have 
met  with  a  warm  response  among  many 
sympathetic  hearers.  Their  publication 
now,  without  the  knowledge  of  the  writer, 
is  justified  only  in  the  hope  that  they 
may  reach  a  wider  circle,  and  bring  help 
to  heroic  France. 


[10] 


"MADEMOISELLE  MISS" 


Pavilion  V, 

September  20,  1915. 

I  SHOULD  like  to  give  you  a  history  of 
those  two  last  eventful  days  in  Paris 
from  my  sudden  summons  on  Thursday  to 
my  departure  from  the  solemn  metropolis 
on  Sunday  at  noon.  Just  imagine  a  pin- 
wheel  in  motion,  and  you  get  a  multum 
in  parvo  notion  of  what  happened. 

The  changing  scenes  of  the  last  few  hours 
keep  dancing  before  my  eyes  like  spots 
when  one  has  looked  at  the  sun.  The 
lovely  vista  of  the  Marne  Valley,  the  con- 
stant babble  of  my  eleven  sisters  in  arms, 
the  arrival  in  a  station  crowded  with  men 

[11] 


'^MADEMOISELLE    MISS" 

and  munitions,  our  billeting  each  in  a 
separate  house  in  the  village,  supper  off 
tin  plates  in  a  long  dingy  barrack  with 
desperate  wounded  behind  the  partition, 
a  scrambling  home  through  the  tiny 
streets  lit  only  by  splendid  stars  and  a  set- 
ting moon,  and  a  night  spent  in  trying  to 
lie  flat  in  a  huge  feather  bed,  listening 
between  rapid  dreams  to  the  booming 
of  the  guns,  —  these  are  the  elements. 

But  oh,  I  can't  express  what  it  means  to 
hear  the  guns  for  the  first  time !  It  is  a 
sensation  so  vast  and  lonely  and  crowded 
and  cosmic  all  at  once  that  one  seems 
born  into  a  new  phase  of  existence  where 
the  old  ways  of  feehng  things  do  not  answer 
any  longer. 

I  am  lodged  with  rank  of  lieutenant  in  a 
splendid  big  room  overlooking  a  bright 
garden,  with  dear  old  women  to  take  care 

[12] 


(  i 


MADEMOISELLE    MISS" 


of  me,  and  they  promise  to  give  me  hot 
water  every  night,  and  lots  of  cold  water 
in  the  morning,  obejdng  the  law  of  hos- 
pitality to  satisfy  wants  they  do  not  under- 
stand !  In  fact  everything  goes  splendidly 
so  far.  I'm  a  soldier  now,  and  get  my 
orders  straight  from  General  Headquarters. 
I  am  perhaps  the  only  American  who  has 
been  regularly  militarized,  certainly  in  the 
two  societies  to  which  I  belong,  which  are 
the  best  in  France. 

I  seize  the  shining  moment  this  golden 
afternoon  while  they  finish  putting  the 
roof  on  this  new  hospital.  The  wounded 
may  arrive  in  two  days,  and  to-morrow 
we  shall  be  tremendously  busy  with  beds 
and  compresses. 

September  21,  1915. 
This  morning  with  four  others  I  drove 
out  over  the  surrounding  battle-fields  smil- 

[13] 


i  i 


MADEMOISELLE    MISS" 


ing  and  lovely  in  the  warm  autumn  sun. 
Even^where  over  hill  and  dale  and  through 
the  woodland  are  scattered  crosses,  gay 
with  flags  and  flowers  now,  for  it  is  the  an- 
niversary of  the  Great  Victory.  The  Ger- 
man graves  are  very  neatly  and  decently 
kept,  but  naturally  there  are  no  flowers, 
and  the  cross  is  always  marked  with  a 
black  and  gray  stripe.  We  passed  through 
three  ruined  villages,  the  very  abomination 
of  desolation,  only  an  occasional  waU  or 
chimney  left  standing;  and  what  makes 
the  very  passion  of  pathos,  small,  intimate 
things  often  stand  out  almost  intact  where 
heavy  masonry  has  completely  vanished, 
—  now  a  sewing-machine,  now  a  tiny 
stove,  now  a  baby's  cradle  quite  recog- 
nizable. 

At  L ,  where  the  Church  of  St.  Martin 

is  roofless  and  gutted,  statues,  columns, 

[14] 


*' MADEMOISELLE    MISS" 

everything  prone  and  shattered,  the  statue 
of  St.  Martin  himself,  above  where  the  high 
altar  stood,  remains  untouched,  with  not 
so  much  as  the  gilt  of  his  robe  blackened. 
All  over  France  and  Belgium  patron  saints, 
Madonnas,  and  crucifixes  seem  to  outlive 
the  bombardment. 

What  was  infinitely  comforting,  and 
proof  that  all  wounds  heal  with  time,  was 
the  sight  of  various  new  little  shacks,  every- 
where planted  upon  the  ruins,  with  vines 
already  beginning  to  grow  about  the  door- 
steps, and  old  women  knitting  in  the  sun. 
They  had  crept  back  after  the  flight  of  the 
Germans,  —  a  kind  of  human  moss  to 
soften  the  scars. 

September  28,  1915. 

The  Head  Surgeon  has  just  advised 
me  that  there  will  be  a  convoy  of  wounded 
in  the  night,  and  I  have  toddled  home  from 

[15] 


"MADEMOISELLE     MISS" 

my  supper  of  meat  and  beans  that  taste 
so  good  off  a  tin  plate,  to  put  in  as  much 
sleep  as  I  can  before  the  orderly  comes  to 
wake  me,  and  incidentally  my  old  dames, 
who  will  scurry  around  in  their  nightcaps 
and  get  cold  feet,  I'm  afraid.  I  can't 
let  you  go  longer  without  news,  even  if 
the  letter  is  held  up  by  the  sanitary  trains, 
or  by  those  23,000  vahd  prisoners  we've 
taken  in  the  last  few  days  who  must  be 
transported  south. 

I  have  installed  the  whole  place,  from 
base-boards  up,  as  a  very  up-to-date  look- 
ing operating  room,  sterilized,  ticketed, 
and  in  short  veiy  neat  and  complete. 
The  surgeon  is  very  satisfied.  Why  I  was 
chosen  for  the  exalted  post.  Heaven  only 
knows.  It  is  altogether  too  cold  and 
scientific  to  have  only  chloroformed  men 
to  deal  with,  when  I  do  love  to  coddle  and 

[16] 


MADEMOISELLE    MISS" 


make  comfy.  As  to  the  latter,  however, 
there  will  be  precious  little  of  it.  We  are 
just  behind  the  firing  line,  and  only  get 
desperate  cases. 

I  have  arranged,  however,  that  my  ward 
shall  have  the  elemental  luxuries.  I  have 
made  washcloths  for  every  bed  in  my 
barracks,  and  there  shall  be  a  towel  for 
each  man,  or  I  shall  go  undried.  Also 
I  asked  the  Head  Surgeon  for  frames  on 
which  to  tack  burlap,  for  certain  beds 
must  be  screened.  He  thought  me  rather 
exacting  for  the  front,  but  wdll  give  me 
what  I  want.  You  see  I'm  absolutely  in 
clover. 

And  now  I  have  a  huge  favor  to  ask. 
Will  you  do  a  little  for  our  soldiers  ?  The 
cotton  gauze  here  is  scant.  We  use  so 
much  !    And  will  you  ship  to  me  at  once  ? 

[17] 


II 

October  2,  1915. 

WORK  has  begun  in  earnest.  Alas, 
that  I  dare  not  take  the  time  from 
sleep  for  more  than  a  hasty  scrawl,  but 
when  one  puts  in  twelve  hours'  work 
daily,  one  must  guard  jealously  the  other 
twelve.  Actually  for  the  first  time  in 
my  life  I  begin  to  feel  as  a  normal  being 
should,  in  spite  of  the  blood  and  anguish 
in  which  I  move.  I  really  am  useful, 
that  is  all,  and  too  busy  to  remember 
myself,  past,  present,  or  future. 

I  beheve  I  told  you  this  is  a  field-hospi- 
tal, —  rather  big  barracks,  six  of  them, 
in  an  enclosure,  with  an  operating-room 
in  the  centre,  and  morgue,  kitchen,  phar- 

[18] 


i  i 


MADEMOISELLE    MISS" 


macy,  bureaus,  etc.,  grouped  around.  It 
presents  a  very  natty  group  mth  the  Red 
Cross  flags  fl}4ng  —  in  defiance  of  the 
Taubes  which  don't  seem  to  dare  to  come 
near  —  and  it  would  look  like  a  play, 
with  its  white  nurses  and  bright  uniforms, 
were  it  not  for  the  big  guns  that  boom 

incessantly  over  by  W to  remind  one 

of  what  is  afoot. 

I  have  the  operating  ward,  and  have 
assisted  the  surgeon  at  22  cases  in  two 
days.  It  is  perhaps  the  most  important 
post  in  the  hospital,  requiring  a  head  set 
square.  The  surgeon,  one  of  the  most 
particular  in  the  Army,  hasn't  yet  corrected 
me.  I  also  have  been  directing  the  sterili- 
zation, and  yesterday  afternoon  the  Head 
Surgeon  told  me  he  mshed  me  to  take 
charge  of  the  seriously  wounded  of  the 
celebrated  Dr.  Tuffier. 

[19] 


<  ( 


MADEMOISELLE    MISS" 


He  arrived  yesterday  with  his  ten  cases 
which  he  had  picked  up  off  the  battle- 
field ;  and  he  claims,  with  his  system,  to 
avoid  amputation  by  constant  irrigation 
of  the  wound  from  the  start.  As  soon  as 
possible  (it  must  be  within  12  hours), 
Tuffier  begins  his  work,  extracts  the 
debris,  introduces  drains  (rubber  tubes), 
several  in  each  opening,  and  into  these 
every  two  hours  is  pumped  a  dark  liquid, 
"Dakin,"  —  the  idea  being,  as  you  see, 
to  keep  the  wound  in  a  constant  bath  of 
antiseptic.  Once  the  drains  are  placed, 
they  are  arranged  in  such  a  way  that  the 
liquid  cannot  run  out.  The  limb  is  envel- 
oped in  non-absorbent  cotton,  perforated 
so  as  to  allow  the  rubber  tubes  to  project 
well,  and  the  whole  is  fixed  with  a  bandage. 
So  there  you  have  your  bandaged  limb 
all  bristling  with  tubes,   and  into  these 

[20] 


"MADEMOISELLE    MISS" 

every  two  houre  is  pumped  the  liquid. 
There  is  something  subHme  and  at  the 
same  time  touching  in  this  one  single 
adventurer  faring  forth  alone  on  his 
mission,  with  the  old  school  of  ampu- 
tators  looking  on  incredulous. 

October  8,  1915. 

You  know  how  it  is  in  the  trenches, — 
load  and  fire  most  of  the  time.  That's 
how  it  is  here.  During  the  last  week,  we 
have  averaged  25  operations  daily.  One 
day  we  had  33,  and  if  you  have  any  con- 
ception of  an  operating-room  where  they 
are  short  of  assistants,  you  may  know 
there  was  not  much  time  left  over.  But 
the  struggle,  and  the  sense  that  one  is 
saving  bits  from  the  wreckage,  doesn't 
give  one  a  chance  to  be  mastered  by  the 
unutterable  woe. 

[21] 


i  i 


MADEMOISELLE    MISS" 


In  these  days  I  have  lost  four,  two 
peritonitis,  one  hemorrhage,  one  tetanus ; 
and  several  others  are  m  a  desperate  con- 
dition. I  have  never  left  my  ward  except 
for  six  hours'  sleep  each  night,  and  one 
hour  yesterday  when  I  walked  behind  the 
bier  in  the  nurse's  post  of  honor.  Ever}^ 
one  feels  the  impressiveness  of  a  military 
funeral,  but  it  is  tenfold  more  impressive  if 
you  take  part  in  it.  I  wish  I  could  make 
you  see  it.  The  narrow,  gable-bordered 
street,  the  bareheaded  villagers,  the  ghsten- 
ing  bayonets,  the  poor  trembling  mourners 
in  rusty  crepe,  and  at  the  head,  no  black 
hearse,  but  a  great  triumphant  tricolor  fol- 
lowing the  cross.  And  the  cemetery  all 
mossy  and  old  and  vibrant  with  sunny  dews, 
that  has  stretched  out  beyond  its  ancient 
cedar-bound  limits  to  receive  hundreds  and 
hundreds  of  new  little  wooden  crosses. 

[22] 


"^'^•'■""  "•• 


C  I 


MADEMOISELLE    MISS" 


I  haven't  the  time  nor  the  heart  to  tell 
you  the  tale  of  my  days,  but  I  tell  you 
this,  that  I  shall  never  get  hardened  to  last 
agonies  and  heart-broken  families.  And 
when  my  little  No.  23  flung  out  his  arms 
last  night  to  say  "Good-by"  (he  knew 
he  was  going)  —  "0,  my  sister,  my  sister  ! 
kiss  me  !"  —  I  tell  you  it  took  control  to 
finish  giving  the  last  of  my  34  anti-tetanus 
injections  a  few  minutes  later. 

Speaking  of  injections,  —  please  send 
me  some  platinum  needles,  big  and  little. 
I  hope  you  will  send  cotton  and  gauze 
soon,  and  iTibber  gloves,  too. 


/ 


[23] 


Ill 

October  18,  1915. 

Sitting  in  the  sun  outside  my  barracks. 
Midday. 

I  HAVE  an  hour  of  liberty  —  an  un- 
heard-of luxury. 
I  never  dreamed  what  real  work  was 
before,  of  course ;  but  now  I  know,  and  am 
learning  mighty  quick  to  accommodate 
myself  to  the  revelation,  —  never  to  take 
two  steps  when  I  can  arrive  in  one,  never 
to  bend  over  the  low  beds  if  I  can  sit,  to 
relax  everything  but  the  occupied  hand 
when  I  am  feeding  a  patient.  These  seem 
little  things,  but  just  because  of  them  I 
am  as  fit  as  possible,  though  I  work  always 
more  than  14  hours  per  day. 

[24] 


"MADEMOISELLE    MISS" 

It  is  a  marvellous  life ;  and  strangely 
enough,  despite  all  the  tragedy,  I  call  it  a 
healthy  one.  One  works,  and  when  that  is 
over  one  sleeps  enough  to  keep  in  condition, 
and  that  is  absolutely  all,  except  a  cold 
sponge  bath  (no  bath-tubs  here),  and  an 
eau  de  cologne  rubdown  in  the  morning, 
and  the  walk  to  and  from  the  Hospital. 
In  the  morning  now  it  is  bitter  cold  and 
misty  and  half  dark,  and  one  gets  weird 
glimpses  of  departing  regiments,  and  white- 
capped  old  market-women,  and  pointed 
gables  across  the  gloom ;  and  at  night  the 
splendid  stars,  and  now  a  great  lustrous 
moon,  and  eveiy  day  and  night  the  boom, 
boom  of  the  cannon  which  sounds  very 
awesome  these  days.  That  is  aU  I  know 
of  the  world  I  live  in. 


[25] 


^'MADEMOISELLE    MISS" 

October  27,  1915. 

A  record  day  without  a  death,  and  every- 
thing went  Hke  clockwork.  I  had  several 
inspirations  —  impossible  to  live  without 
them  here  on  the  front  —  for  constructing 
important  things  out  of  nothing.  Don't 
be  surprised  if  I  turn  inventor  !  One  has 
to  out  here. 

The  day  has  been  tremendous,  and  the 
first  in  which  I  have  not  lost  a  life.  Indeed, 
I  saved  one  by  compressing  a  hemorrhage 
in  the  nick  of  time. 

We  soldiers  are  hard  pressed  these  days. 
The  wounded  pour  in  day  and  night  by 
trains,  —  by  American  autos  ^  too,  but 
I  can't  take  a  minute  to  run  out  to  salute 
my  countrymen.     We  discharge  our  pa- 

1  This  is  a  reference  to  the  American  Ambulance 
Field  Service  which  has  120  ambulances  working  at 
the  front,  all  driven  by  American  volunteers. 

[26] 


( ( 


MADE  Ai  GISELLE    MISS" 


tients  as  fast  as  we  can,  and  bury  dozens 
a  week.  It  is  all  like  a  weird  dream, 
laughter  (for  they  laugh  well,  the  soldiers) 
and  blood  and  death  and  funny  episodes, 
and  sublime  also,  all  under  the  autumn 
stars. 

What  a  gorgeous  day,  all  gold  and  blue, 
and  all  the  little  pine  pa\dlions  glimmer 
in  the  light  like  enchanted  dwellings  in 
a  fairy  plaj^ !  It  is  impossible  to  realize 
out  here  all  the  miserv  and  foul  smells 
and  horrid  sights  just  behind  those  boards. 
Out  here  under  the  burnished  skies  all  that 
seems  repulsive,  but  once  inside  it  comes 
natural  and  as  a  matter  of  course.  Just 
one  thing  tries  me  eternally  —  the  flies! 
Oh,  for  some  Pied  Piper  to  pipe  them  all 
into  the  Marne !  The  swarms  devour 
my  poor  patients,  and  I  haven't  gauze 
enough    to    cover    them.     Talk    of    the 

[27] 


(  i 


MADEMOISELLE     MISS" 


plagues  of  Egypt !  I  pray  that  the  cold 
may  soon  come  and  save  us,  —  a  local 
cold  that  spares  the  trenches  ! 

Speaking  of  lack  of  gauze,  —  I  lack 
everything.  For  my  surgical  dressings 
room  I  have  had  to  buy  everything  or  go 
without,  which  is  distinctly  impossible. 
Cuvettes,  glass  jars,  cups,  oilcloth,  syringes, 
needles,  all  in  fact  lacking  but  the  phar- 
macy. Ether  is  a  memory  here.  Please 
send  the  needles  and  all  the  other  things. 
To-day  I  got  another  thermometer  and  feel 
rich.  Imagine  taking  34  temperatures 
twice  a  day  with  one  !  Now  I  do  all  my 
own  dressings.  I'm  dog-tired  to-night, 
but  very  well. 


[28] 


IV 

November  5-10,  1915. 

IT  is  all  neat  and  clean  here  in  my  tiny 
surgical  dressings  room,  and  while  the 
instruments  are  boiling  and  my  29  children 
are  resting  after  their  midday  soup,  I  can 
conscientiously  snatch  just  a  minute.  The 
work  is  a  bit  lighter  to-day,  because  four 
have  been  discharged  this  a.m.,  and  the 
beds  have  not  been  filled. 

Ever  since  I  began  my  work  I  have  been 
watching  for  a  chance  to  sketch  for  you 
at  least  one  day  in  detail,  that  you  may 
have  some  vague  idea  of  this  unique  and 
inexpressible  life. 

At  quarter  to  six  a.m.,  I  am  up  and 
sponged  and  well  flesh-bi*ushed.  My  good 
old  lady  gives  me  a  huge  bowl  of  coffee 

[29] 


''MADEMOISELLE     MISS" 

and  four  lumps  of  sugar,  bread  and  butter, 
and  a  boiled  egg,  for  12  cents  —  an  extrav- 
agance which  I  indulge  in  to  avoid  the 
probable  consequence  of  the  long  walk  to 
the  Hospital  on  an  empty  stomach  through 
the  mists  of  the  Marne,  which  are  thick  and 
weird  enough  in  the  early  morning.  It  is 
a  devious  way  through  mud  and  mist, 
and  almost  anything  is  likely  to  cross  your 
path,  —  a  bent,  white-capped  old  woman 
like  a  stray  from  some  old  Dutch  painting, 
a  black  cat,  lean  and  rusty  (everything  is 
hmigry  about  here) ;  an  aeroplane  wheeling 
about  on  the  watch  for  Tauhes  which  are 
frequent  and  fiery  these  days;  a  convoy 
of  automobiles  driving  at  top  speed  to  the 
trenches ;  the  dim  wraith  of  a  funeral 
procession  disappearing  in  the  distance. 

When  I  get  to  my  pavilion,  there  is  sure 
to  be  '^  Grandpa,"  my  treasured  old  orderly, 

[30] 


^'MADEMOISELLE    MISS" 


busy  at  brusliiiig  out  the  entrance.  He 
immediately  drops  his  broom,  and  holds 
out  his  good  brawny  hand  to  hope  that 
his  "Mademoiselle  Miss"  (the  name  I 
am  generally  known  by)  has  slept  well, 
and  will  not  work  too  hard  during  the 
coming  day.  Grandpa  is  my  Eternal 
Vigilance,  always  on  hand,  always  ready 
to  do  every  bidding,  and  zealous  to  spare 
me  every  possible  fatigue.  Last  week  he 
and  my  other  orderlies  were  ill  —  he  and 
Karbiche,  the  merry  faithful  clown,  mth 
bronchitis,  and  Loupias  with  tonsilitis  and 
a  bad  bone-felon  —  and  I  had  to  carry  my 
patients  to  the  surgical  dressings  room 
myself.     He  nearly  wept  with  chagrin. 

The  first  thing  I  do,  after  a  word  of 
greeting  to  each  of  the  34  children,  is  to 
review  the  ward  and  see  that  it  is  weU 
washed,  in  order,  and  no  spoons  or  bottles 

[31] 


( i 


MADEMOISELLE     MISS" 


out  of  place,  and  to  start  instruments  boil- 
ing. After  that  begin  the  temperatures. 
Along  with  the  temperatures  go  face- 
washing  and  mouth-rinsing,  generally- 
engineered  by  faithful  Grandpa.  About 
half -past  eight,  the  doctor  makes  his 
appearance.  \\Tien  he  has  made  the  tour 
of  the  ward,  I  am  left  complete  mistress 
of  the  scene  for  the  rest  of  the  day,  with 
34  lives  in  my  hand  more  than  half  of 
which  hang  in  the  Balance.  If  there  is 
anything  critical,  I  send  for  the  big  surgeon, 
and  he  always  comes  graciously,  which  is 
a  great  mark  of  confidence.  About  9  a.m. 
I  begin  the  dressings,  unless  there  are 
anti-tetanus  injections  to  give  for  those 
who  may  have  arrived  in  the  night,  or 
some  one  is  dying,  or  there  is  an  urgent 
operation.  But  we  shall  suppose  an  unin- 
terrupted day.     I  begin  with  the  important 

[32] 


''MADEMOISELLE    MISS" 

dressings,  which  are  often  long  and  danger- 
ous, and  I  can  do  but  three  or  four  before 
the  bell  rings  for  soup  at  10.45  a.m. 

I  think  you  would  sicken  with  fright 
if  you  could  see  the  operations  that  a  poor 
nurse  is  called  upon  to  perform  —  the 
putting  in  of  drains,  the  washing  of 
wounds  so  huge  and  ghastly  as  to  make  one 
marvel  at  the  endurance  that  is  man's,  the 
digging  about  for  bits  of  shrapnel.  I  as- 
sure you  that  the  word  responsibility  takes 
a  special  meaning  here.  After  the  soup 
for  the  wounded,  comes  that  of  the  nurses, 
when  all  crowd  into  a  tiny  plank  hut,  and 
stuff  meat  and  potatoes  as  fast  as  we  can 
between  disjointed  bits  of  gossip.  Im- 
mediately after  lunch  I  spend  an  hour  or 
so  setting  to  rights  the  surgical  dressings 
room,  doing  little  services,  and  distribut- 
ing   cakes    or   bonbons.     It    is    amazing 

[33] 


^'MADEMOISELLE     MISS" 

how  a  bit  of  peppermint  will  console  a 
soldier  when  a  smile  goes  with  it ! 

Dressings  all  the  afternoon  until  it  is 
time  for  temperatures ;  then  soup  for  the 
soldiers ;  and  mine,  which  is  soon  finished ; 
then  the  massage  for  those  that  need  it, 
etc.,  after  which  I  prepare  my  soothing 
drinks  and  give  the  injections.  It  is  the 
sweetest  time  of  the  day,  for  then  one  puts 
off  the  nurse  and  becomes  the  mother; 
and  we  have  such  fun  over  the  warm 
drinks.  They  are  nice  and  sweet  and  hot, 
and  the  soldiers  adore  their  "American 
drinks." 

When  this  is  done,  I  go  aromid  and  stuff 
cotton  under  weaiy  backs  and  plastered 
limbs,  bid  all  the  children  good-night, 
polish  my  instiniments,  clean  out  the  sur- 
gical dressings  room,  and  huny  home 
through  the  frosty  night. 

[34] 


( ( 


MADEMOISELLE     MISS" 


This  is  the  rough  outline  of  an  ordinary 
day,  and  into  that  let  your  fancy  weave 
all  that  is  too  holy  or  terrible,  too  touching 
or  humorous  to  put  into  words  —  the  last 
kiss  a  soldier  gives  you  for  his  family  he 
will  never  see ;  the  watches  with  the  priest 
when  all  is  still  and  dark,  but  for  the  light 
of  my  little  electric  lamp  and  a  bit  of  moon- 
Hght  through  the  window;  the  agonies 
and  heroisms ;  the  wit  and  affection  that 
play  hke  varied  hghts  and  darks  along  the 
days. 

All  in  the  midst  of  a  gory  dressing,  with 
the  wind  dri\ing  snow  flurries  past  a 
broken  window,  came  the  baggage  master 
and  popped  a  fat  lot  of  letters  into  the  big 
front  pocket  of  my  apron. 

The  joyous  news  has  come  that  the 
cotton,  etc.,  are  on  the  way.  The  pressure 
has  been  terrible.     After  a  comparative 

[35] 


"MADEMOISELLE     M  I  S  S  " 

lull,  dreadful  cases  have  been  pouring  in. 
As  for  what  is  being  done  over  there  for 
these  poor  men,  I  can  only  say,  God  bless 
all  the  generous  donore  !  None  can  imag- 
ine what  the  help  will  mean.  Why, 
daughters  of  France  could  not  have  done 
more  ! 


[36] 


V 

November  18,  1915. 

NIGHT  before  last  I  believe  I  saved  a 
man  for  good,  who  would  not  have 
survived  the  night.  But  oh,  what  I  need 
is  a  great  strong  intelligent  man,  always 
devoted  and  always  right  there  to  follow 
instructions.  He  should  be  six  feet,  never 
tired,  never  out  of  humor,  tender  as  a 
woman,  and  muscled  like  Ajax  !  What  a 
lot  we  could  do  ! 

I  have  tried  to  hint  my  gratitude  for 
the  generous  gifts  coming  to  this  poverty- 
stricken  hospital.  The  goods  will  be  no 
idle  superfluity,  I  can  tell  you.  Up  to 
now  we  have  been  allowed  almost  nothing 
to  work  with,  and  now  a  general  order  has 

[37] 


"MADEMOISELLE    MISS" 


gone  forth  from  the  Army  Headquarters 
to  economize  on  that.  ^Yhen  I  tell  you 
that  I  hdve  one  large  needle  for  my  whole 
Pa\dlion,  and  that  I  am  obliged  to  give 
on  an  average  of  fifteen  injections  a  day 
with  it  —  and  as  if  that  were  not  enough, 
the  doctor  frequently  asks  to  borrow  it  for 
another  hospital,  you  may  guess  how  it  all 
goes.  But  when  the  doctor  brings  it 
back  —  he  knows  I  hate  to  lend  it  —  he 
always  says  with  his  most  winning  smile 
—  "I  am  bringing  back  the  baby  to  his 
mother." 

No  child  ever  awaited  Santa  Claus  with 
half  the  impatience  that  seizes  me  every 
time  I  think  of  the  arrival  of  the  Rocham- 
heau}    I  feel   more   like   Cheriy-Garrard 

1  Steamship  sent  to  France  from  America  with 
hospital  supplies. 

[38] 


"MADEMOISELLE    MISS" 

and  his  comrades,  shut  up  in  their  Antarc- 
tic hole  for  the  winter,  wondering  how  long 
supplies  will  hold  out,  and  when  the  ship 
wiU  come.  Really,  it  is  poverty  beyond 
description,  only  the  strange  part  of  it  is 
that  3^ou  would  never  suspect  anything  of 
the  sort  if  you  should  enter  the  gates  of 
our  little  Hospital  on  a  sunny  morning 
when  flags  are  fl}ing  and  fir  trees,  carefully 
planted  as  if  it  were  a  terrace  at  Versailles, 
throw  their  pointed  shadows  across  the 
frosted  paths  —  care-free  as  you  please. 
Ah,  it  is  what  makes  the  charm  of  the 
boulevards  and  the  tragedy  of  the  Parisian 
garrets. 

The  father  of  one  of  my  wounded  —  a 
rich  merchant  of  Havre  —  has  given  me 
two  thermometers  —  one  that  descends 
automatically,  —  and  I  love  it ;  but  oh, 
the  lacks  !    Perhaps  the  hardest  to  bear, 

[39] 


"MADEMOISELLE    MISS" 

now  that  I  have  pro\ided  myself  with  in- 
struments and  the  Rochambeau  has  sailed, 
are  the  alimentary  and  medicinal  ones. 

One  man  I  am  keeping  alive  on  malted 
milk  ordered  from  Paris  and  fresh  eggs  — 
the  hospital  milk  being  utterly  undrink- 
able,  and  the  eggs  preserved.  The  Head 
Surgeon  regards  my  little  efforts  as  a 
symptom  of  benign  lunacy,  but  he  lets  me 
do  as  I  please.  Alas,  sentiment,  intuition, 
endeavor,  don't  take  the  place  of  science. 
When  I  realize  my  actual  ignorance  it 
would  utterly  terrify  me  if  I  did  not  know 
I  am  meant  to  be  just  here,  and  am  learn- 
ing eveiy  day  from  experience,  if  not  from 
books  and  masters. 

You  can't  imagine,  I  suppose,  that  we 
laugh  and  jest  all  day  long  ?  Yet  so  it  is, 
and  if  you  can't  do  that,  you  might  as  weU 

[40] 


^'MADEMOISELLE    MISS" 

get  out,  for  all  the  good  you  will  ever  do  a 
French  wounded  soldier.  Why,  I  believe 
his  very  wounds  wouldn't  heal  if  he  were 
not  allowed  to  make  merry  over  them, 
and  he  will  jest  with  you  up  to  the  hour 
before  he  dies  —  a  mixture  of  wit  and 
pathos  too  poignant  ever  to  reproduce. 

Number  nine,  contusion  cerebrale  tre- 
pannation,  etc.,  has  just  waked  up.  He 
sees  me  writing.  "Mademoiselle,  will 
you  give  my  greetings  to  your  family?" 
("  Mademoiselle,  donnez  bien  le  bonjour  a 
votre  famille  pour  moi,  n'est-ce  pas?") 

Echoed  by  No.  4.  "And  mine  also, 
Mademoiselle."  ("Ainsi  que  moi.  Ma- 
demoiselle.") Poor  fellow,  he  can  hardly 
be  here  long ! 

My  little  boy  from  Havre,  19  years  old, 
with  resection  of  the  shoulder  and  a  tem- 
perature that  refuses  to  moderate  (which 

[41] 


"  M  A  D  E  MO  I  S  E  L  L  K     MISS" 

disquiets  me  much,  for  there  is  no  obvious 
reason  save  a  high-strung  temperament), 
speaks  EngHsh  ver}^  well.  One  day  he  was 
looking  at  my  insignia  —  A.  D.  F.  and  a 
bar.  "What's  your  rank,  Mademoiselle  ? " 
I  told  him.  "Then  I  think  they  should 
call  you  Lieutenant  of  the  Life  Guards  !" 
Pretty,  wasn't  it?  I  suppose  that  you 
know  that  war  surgery  calls  for  antiseptics 
much  more  powerful  than  are  used  in 
ordinary  peace  operations.  For  instance, 
alcohol  95  %.  It  is  no  joke  to  pour  alcohol 
into  a  gaping  wound,  and  No.  1,  though 
brave  as  can  be,  resents  it  intensely.  One 
day,  as  he  gripped  the  sides  of  the  operating 
table  to  keep  from  upsetting  my  arrange- 
ments, he  gave  me  a  quizzical  look :  "  Sister, 
why  are  you  tempting'me  so  when  you  know 
very  well  that  the  government  has  strictly 
forbidden  our  taking  any  sort  of  alcohol  ?  '* 

[42] 


^^MADEMOISELLE     MISS" 

I  wish  you  could  see  my  ward  just  now, 
with  the  wintiy  smihght  streaming  in, 
making  us  all  think  we  are  warmer ! 
Imagine,  it  is  not  yet  December,  and  the 
mercury  is  down  nearly  to  zero  Fahrenheit. 
It  takes  some  nerve  to  dress  in  white 
linen  with  sleeves  above  the  elbows ! 
But  we  don't  mind  when  the  sun  shines, 
making  bright  gold  patches  everywhere, 
and  striking  through  the  trophy  of  flags 
that  I  have  arranged  down  there  at  the 
end  of  the  ward  to  the  great  delight  of  the 
children. 

There  hang  the  flags  of  all  the  Allies, 
except  Japan,  which  wasn't  to  be  had,  and 
there  is  a  wee  Stars  and  Stripes  at  the  point 
of  the  shield  made  by  our  obliging  car- 
penter. The  electric  lights  overhead  are 
draped  in  tricolor,  and  on  the  table  is  one 
red  rose  brought  me  from  Paris. 

[43] 


i  i 


AIADEMOISELLE     MISS  " 


It  is  not  so  bad  for  a  "front"  hospital, 
and  wonder  of  wondere,  it's  clean  —  and 
that  by  dint  of  much  strategy.  It  used 
to  be  awful.  But  there  are  two  ways  of 
appealing  to  a  Frenchman,  through  his 
heart  and  through  his  pride.  \Mien  you 
work  both  together,  you  have  his  body  and 
soul.  And  so,  when  my  orderlies  saw  me 
on  my  knees  scrubbing,  they  came  to  the 
rescue,  and  then  I  clinched  the  matter 
with  the  flags  and  the  suggestion  that  ours 
should  be  the  model  ward.  It  worked  ! 
But  of  course  one  doesn't  count  on  the 
morrow. 

November  28,  1915. 

The  Germans  are  tiying  to  take  back 
Tahure,  and  the  guns,  silent  these  last 
days,  have  been  somiding  with  a  di'ead 
persistency  across  the  frozen  miles.  Best 
proof  that  something  is  afoot — the  bulletins 

[44] 


i  i 


MADEAIOISELLE     MISS  " 


are  silent.     It  is  unspeakable  —  this  wait- 
ing —  and  listening  —  and  wondering. 

I  left  my  men  at  half -past  eight.  The 
cruel  cold  that  nearly  finished  us  all  has 
suddenly  given  place  to  a  regular  equinoc- 
tial downpour  that  bids  fair  to  turn  the 
narrow  streets  to  rivers.  The  trenches 
will  be  lagoonS;  and  how  on  earth  the  pro- 
jected German  attack  can  ever  be  brought 
to  pass  I  leave  Joffre  to  imagine !  As  I 
paddled  along  through  the  tempest  a  bent 
old  man,  probably  a  veteran  of  1870,  with 
a  huge,  ancient  umbrella  pulled  down 
about  his  ears,  passed  me.  He  looked 
picturesque  and  kindly  enough  by  the 
light  of  my  brave  little  lamp.  "Poor 
girl,"  he  murmured,  "without  any  um- 
brella, like  the  soldiers!"  He  wouldn't 
have  believed,  I  suppose,  even  had  I 
stopped  to  argue  with  him,  how  I  delighted 

[45] 


"  M  A  D  E  MO  I  S  K  L  L  E     MISS" 

in  the  storm,  in  the  fresh,  stimulating 
wetness  after  the  heavy  air  of  the  ward, 
and  in  the  exclusive  properties  of  my 
excellent  blue  cape  and  hood  ! 

A  dramatic  thing  happened  just  at  mid- 
night. At  five  minutes  to  twelve  I  blew 
out  my  wee  lamp  and  knelt  at  the  open 
window.  The  heavens  were  shrouded  and 
it  was  raining ;  but  just  as  the  first  stroke 
of  midnight  sounded,  the  cloud-roof  split 
and  vanished;  and  at  the  end  of  the  twelfth, 
as  gorgeous  a  firmament  stretched  over  us 
as  Johannes  Agricola  ever  contemplated. 

They've  sent  away  many  of  my  children 
(a  decided  lull  everywhere),  but  I  love  all 
the  better  those  that  are  left. 

The  fewer  my  wounded,  the  more  I 
work.  That  may  be  a  slight  exaggeration, 
but  it  is  perfectly  true  that  with  nineteen 
patients  all  in  serious  case  one  undertakes 

[4G] 


"MADEMOISELLE     MISS" 

a  great  many  things  that  one  wouldn't 
dare  think  of  for  33,  and  under  the  delusion 
that  one  has  plenty  of  time,  one  does  things 
with  a  sort  of  refined  thoroughness,  so  that 
the  day  is  gone  before  one  realizes. 

You  win  like  to  hear  of  the  living  skele- 
ton with  wounds  in  back  and  hands  and 
shoulder  that  they  brought  me  filthy  and 
nearly  dead  from  another  pavilion.  That 
was  nine  days  ago.  I  diagnosed  him  as  a 
case  of  neglect  and  slow  starvation,  and 
treated  him  accordingly  —  malted  milk, 
eggs,  soap,  and  alcohol  to  the  fore.  His 
dressings  took  one  and  a  half  hours  every 
day,  and  all  nourishment  given  a  few  drops 
at  a  time,  and  nearly  all  the  time,  for  he 
was  almost  too  weak  to  lift  an  eyelid, 
much  less  a  finger.  This  morning  he 
actually  laughed  with  me  and  tried  to 
clench  his  fist  inside  the  dressings  to  show 

[47] 


i  ( 


MADEMOISELLE     MISS  " 


me  how  strong  he  was.     He's  saved,  and 
that  makes  up  for  much. 

As  I  have  several  times  WTitten,  cotton, 
gauze  and  needles  and  gloves  have  finally 
all  come  —  the  last  a  week  ago  —  a  gift 
from  the  very  gods  aU  of  it.  But  just 
now  the  gloves  and  needles  are  my  special 
joy.  Now  that  I  am  able  to  protect  myself 
from  danger,  I  realize  what  a  serious  priva- 
tion I  underwent  before.  If  you  knew  the 
sort  of  cases  I  handle,  you'd  realize  what 
an  armor  you've  given  me ;  and  how 
perfectly  satisfactory^  they  are  —  strong 
as  steel,  and  so  light  and  elastic  that  one's 
touch  is  rather  sensitized  than  impaired, 
even  in  the  most  delicate  operation.  The 
needles  are  great,  and  as  for  cotton  and 
gauze,  I  breathe  freely  to  think  that  at  the 
next  attack  there  will  be  a  pa\dlion  in  the 
Hospital  fit  to  receive  the  wounded. 

[48] 


VI 

December  27,  1915. 

THIS  being  an  essentially  Christmas 
Number  we'll  omit  professional  data 
and  all  the  tragic  things,  to  show  you  the 
bright  side  of  the  battle.  Don't  forget 
there  is  one,  and  it  is  good  to  reveal  it 
from  time  to  time,  lest  we  lose  faith  in 
living,  and  get  bound  to  the  wheel.  One 
can  lay  too  much  stress  on  the  shambles, 
the  misery,  the  cruelty,  at  the  expense 
of  finer  realities,  and  if  Robert  Louis 
Stevenson  were  here  he'd  perfectly  agree 
with  me  !  All  of  which  goes  to  show  that 
the  Star  of  Bethlehem  has  shone  very  close 
above  my  humble  shelter  at  this  blessed 
season,  and  that  the  Angel  of  Death  has 

[49] 


*'  M  A D  E  MO  I  S  E  L  L  E     MISS" 

not  passed  over  it.  For  which  I  am  so 
utterly  thankful  that  my  heart  is  as  light 
as  a  lark's  to-day;  and  it  has  learned 
—  as  our  soldiei"s  learn  to  sleep  in  the 
trenches  —  not  to  forecast  alarms  for  the 
morrow. 

It  was  over  a  month  ago,  when  the 
stress  of  death  and  swift  changes  was  at  its 
height;  that  for  once  in  my  life  I  had  a 
flash  of  forethought  for  Christmas ;  and 
when  the  Government  offered  me  six 
days'  leave  of  absence  to  which  we  are 
entitled  at  this  time,  I  refused  it  instantly. 
Mothere  who  love  their  children  don't 
go  off  and  leave  them  with  empty  stockings 
then.  And  the  soldier,  more  than  any 
other  creature  in  the  world;  I  believe, 
does  love  to  be  diverted. 

I  happened  to  tell  my  scheme  to  the 
young  chemist  who  helps  in  the  operating 

[50] 


"  A/[ADEMOISELLE     MISS  " 

room.  As  he  forwards  me  in  every  way, 
—  from  carrying  wounded  to  providing 
me  with  chocolates  which  quickly  disappear 
down  thirty-three  throats,  —  he  suggested 
interesting  his  mother  and  her  Paris 
friends.  Then  there  is  a  dear  bonnie  old 
woman  who  plays  the  role  of  fairy  god- 
mother to  my  ward.  For  a  long  time  I 
never  knew  who  she  was  or  where  she  came 
from ;  but  twice  a  week,  just  at  soup-time, 
in  would  trot  the  dear,  quaint  creature,  all 
tied  up  in  a  woollen  fichu  and  laden  with  a 
huge  basket  filled  for  the  whole  family. 
Sometimes  it  held  baked  apples  all  sticky 
with  jelly,  sometimes  a  thick  savorj^ 
pottage  steaming  hot,  sometimes  tarts,  or 
ripe  pears  —  always  a  digestible  inspira- 
tion. She'd  slip  in,  set  the  basket  on  the 
table,  and  slip  out,  often  before  I  had  time 
to  thank  her.     Later  I  found  it  was  Mme. 

[51] 


( i 


M  A  D  E  M  O  I  S  K  L  L  E     M  I  S  S  " 


Nebout  who  keeps  the  tiny  groceiy  in  the 
rue  de  Fremicourt ;  and  I  was  almost  sorry 
to  place  her,  she  was  so  like  a  figure  out  of 
Hans  Andersen.  One  day  I  caught  her 
on  the  fly  to  ask  if  she  could  help  me 
order  a  tree.  Her  keen,  wiinkled  eyes 
just  danced.  Not  only  she'd  help  me, 
but  she  knew  a  horticulturist  who'd  give 
me  one  if  she  said  so,  and  she'd  give  me  all 
the  ribbons,  and  some  handkerchiefs,  and 
there  was  a  confectioner  who  had  bonbons 
to  spare.  So  immediately  I  took  heart 
and  saw  my  little  festa  taking  stately 
proportions.  A  little  thinking  at  nights, 
and  three  pilgrimages  to  town,  of  an  hour 
and  a  half  each,  did  the  rest ;  and  Christmas 
Eve  you  couldn't  have  found  a  prettier 
tree  in  the  whole  Republic  than  lifted  its 
glimmering  branches  towards  the  rafters 
of  Pavilion  V. 

[52] 


'MADEMOISELLE     MISS 


•)  •) 


Mme.  B.,  my  young  friend's  mother, 
sent  me  a  portly  case  with  many  bonbons, 
cigarettes,  twenty  pipes,  and  biscuits  in 
profusion  ;  and  my  good  dames  that  house 
me  so  cheerfully  tucked  ten  francs  under 
my  breakfast  plate,  and  I  myself  stretched 
several  points,  "for  Xmas  comes  but  once 
a  year."  So  that  at  half-past  six  on  Christ- 
mas Eve  when  the  Head  Surgeon  came, 
very  nervous,  to  preside  over  the  lighting 
of  those  precarious  candles,  he  saw  a  Cj[uite 
enchanting  sight. 

All  the  fourteen  windows  of  the  ward 
garlanded  with  ivy  for  which  a  faithful 
orderly  had  ferreted  in  the  neglected 
environs ;  all  my  twenty-nine  wounded  — 
the  family  is  lacking  four  —  propped  on 
their  pillows  in  anticipation;  and  in  the 
middle  our  Tree,  all  a-glitter  with  bright 
globes  and  dozens  of  candles  and  bending 

[53] 


^ '  M  A  D  E  A I O  I  S  E  L  T .  E     MISS" 

under  the  w  eight  of  my  tin}-  gifts  —  at- 
tached with  tricolor.  At  the  veiy  top  a 
tinsel  star  constructed  by  me  and  an  able- 
handed  patient;  with  the  tricolor  at  the 
topmost  point  —  above  the  stars,  mark 
you  —  and  little  silk  flags  of  the  Allies 
clustered  below,  with  a  microscopic  Stars 
and  Stripes.  All  this  was  suiprise  and  ex- 
citement enough,  but  no  one  was  prepared 
for  the  grand  coup  that  was  to  follow. 

After  the  Tree  was  lighted  I  flew  off 
to  the  supplies  room  with  "Grandpa"  and 
a  few  minutes  later  out  stepped  as  perfect 
a  Pere  Noel  as  ever  walked  through  the 
pages  of  a  stoiy  book  —  a  French  Father 
Christmas  —  no  Santa  Claus.  A  blue-gray 
cape  covered  him  from  top  to  toe,  and  on 
the  long  white  beard  and  peaked  hood  the 
fresh  snow  glistened  cheerily  —  a  com- 
bination of  mica,  boracic  acid,  and  cotton, 

[54] 


'MADEMOISELLE     MISS 


?  5 


not  at  all  banal  —  in  his  hand  a  knotted 
cane  and  classic  lantern,  feet  tucked  in 
deep,  tunied-up  wooden  shoes,  and  on  his 
back  a  basket  with  oranges  and  cakes  for 
the  whole  hospital.  You  should  have 
seen  the  joy  and  astonishment  that  accom- 
panied Lis  progress  from  pavilion  to  pavil- 
ion, several  of  us  following  to  distribute 
the  goodies  ! 

Once  when  we  went  into  an  isolation 
ward  where  a  poor  fellow  was  languishing 
in  the  last  stage  of  septic  poisoning,  there 
happened  something  strange  and  infinitely 
touching.  He  must  have  taken  the  appari- 
tion for  somethhig  heavenly;  for  first  a 
dazed  look  came  over  his  face,  then  a 
marvellous  smile,  and  he  stretched  out  his 
arms.  I  bent  down  and  whispered  a 
Christmas  message,  and  put  an  orange 
in  his  hand.     It  was  his  last  consciousness. 

[55] 


''MADE  M  O  T  S  E  L  L  E     M  I  S  S  " 

"Grandpa"  acquitted  himself  master- 
fully. He  made  enchanting  little  dis- 
courses as  if  he  had  been  a  real  actor  instead 
of  a  simple  peasant  from  the  Oise ;  and  the 
Head  Surgeon,  who  at  first  had  been  dubi- 
ous about  the  imdertaking,  was  delighted. 

When  the  distribution  was  over,  I  filled 
the  arms  of  Pere  Noel  with  red  roses  to 
distribute  among  the  nurees,  and  he  made 
an  effect  in  blue,  white,  and  red — blue 
mantel,  white  beard,  red  roses  —  that  was 
altogether  delightful.  After  that  he  gave 
to  each  of  the  doctore  a  little  box  daintily 
engraved  with  a  wreath  of  flags  and  filled 
with  dates  I  had  stuffed  at  midnight. 
And  then  I  began  the  distribution  in  my 
ward.  Each  patient  had  a  "Victoiy 
Packet"  —  four  sheets  of  writing  paper, 
four  envelopes,  and  an  ink  pencil  tied 
with  tricolor  —  a  tiny  mirror  (they  adore 

[56] 


''MADEMOISELLE    MISS" 

to  look  at  themselves  !),  a  tiny  comb  in  a 
case,  a  bright  package  of  bonbons,  and  a 
package  of  cigarettes.  Tiny  things,  but 
all  I  could  afford,  and  you  would  have 
thought  Paradise  had  opened  for  them. 

I  forgot  to  mention  that  one  of  my 
wounded  made  a  speech  from  his  bed,  and 
every  one  cheered  for  "MUe.  Miss." 

December  31,  1915. 

There  have  been  various  changes  of 
which  I  will  tell  you  in  my  next.  Gauze, 
cotton,  gloves,  and  needles  aU  there ! 
Thanks,  thanks,  and  God  bless  you  !  It's 
a  new  year  of  promise.  I  believe  we  ought 
to  be  joyous  no  matter  if  men  do  try  to 
make  it  a  vale  of  tears,  and  the  more 
suffering  I  see,  the  more  I  think  so. 


[57] 


VII 

January  16,  1916. 

BEFORE  I  touch  on  my  daily  doings 
—  such  a  swift  monotony  of  change 
that  they  show  a  still  white  on  the  screen 
hke  the  shadow  from  a  spinning  rainbow 
— I  will  tr}^  for  once  to  be  definite.  I  have 
already  written  several  times  that  I  have 
been  the  radiant  recipient  of  a  thousand 
yards  of  gauze,  100  pounds  of  absorbent 
cotton,  six  needleS;  and  six  dozen  pairs  of 
gloves,  made  in  a  practical  corner  of  Para- 
dise, and  25  lbs.  of  ether  and  a  box  from 
the  Peter  Bent  Brigham  Hospital  which  I 
will  acknowledge  separately,  plus  such  a 
lot  of  encouragement  as  will  last  me  for 
the  rest  of  the  war.  All  this  seems 
opulence  enough  —  and  now  this  morning 

[68] 


i  i 


MADEMOISELLE     A4  I  S  S  " 


conies  that  glorious  list  of  fresh  blessings 
from  our  golden  shores.  All  at  once 
America  has  become  Cathay  to  me  —  a  far 
more  luminous  discovery  than  Columbus 
ever  dreamed  of  —  a  Promised  Land, 
flowing  with  ether  and  cotton  and  all  sorts 
of  surgical  delights.  All  of  a  sudden  I 
find  myself  growing  patriotic,  to  a  degree 
I  never  knew  in  former  days.  It's  quite 
true  that  whenever  I  turn  my  eyes 
toward  the  end  of  my  ward,  where  hangs 
the  bright  trophy  I  told  you  about,  the 
little  American  banner  below  with  the  light 
shining  through  gives  me  a  wee  thrill  that 
is  quite  peculiar,  and  makes  me  think  that 
some  day  I  may  be  a  better  American. 

January  19,  1916. 

All  sorts  of  changes,  visits  of  Generals, 
discharges,  etc.,  have  kept  me  too  busy  to 

[59] 


"MADEMOISELLE     MISS" 

write.  It's  a  thousand  pities  that  I  can't 
give  you  so  much  as  a  penny  ghmpse  of  this 
weird  and  wonderful  theatre,  where  I  play 
the  role  now  of  scene-shifter,  now  of  leading 
lady,  and  anything  between  except,  let's 
hope,  the  \dllain,  and  where  such  dramas 
and  comedies  are  enacted  as  no  stage 
ever  saw.  Let  me  try  to  tell  you  at 
least  something  about  one  or  two  of  my 
wounded. 

Gaston  is  of  the  stuff  that  will  make 
France  \dctorious.  He's  a  little  fish  dealer 
of  Paris,  staunch  and  sane  of  soul  and  limb, 
the  kind  that  goes  out  alone  on  patrol,  and 
brings  down  his  Boche  every  time,  and 
wears  the  cross  at  19  ^\'ithout  bragging,  — 
the  kind  that  is  equal  to  anything  from 
writing  patriotic  vei'se  that  brings  tears 
to  your  eyes,  to  outwitting  his  nurse  and 
always   getting   his   way.     He   was   only 

[CO] 


"MADEMOISELLE     A^IISS  " 

slightly  wounded  and  got  into  my  service 
by  mistake ;  but  that  wretched  little 
wound  in  his  thigh  would  never  heal 
despite  my  most  intelligent  efforts.  At 
last  he  was  well  enough  to  get  up  and 
suddenly,  without  any  suggestion  or  instruc- 
tion, Gaston  became  my  chief  assistant. 
He  cut  my  cottons,  folded  compresses, 
helped  with  bandages,  polished  my  instru- 
ments, did  a  thousand  little  fine  things 
that  I  could  never  trust  to  my  orderlies, 
and  when  we  were  alone  at  work  after 
"lights  out"  we  talked  philosophy.  We 
didn't  cry  when  we  separated  only  be- 
cause we're  good  soldiers. 

A  pearl  fisher  —  a  good  Catholic  and  a 
brave  fighter  —  had  come  from  the  sunny 
shores  of  Guadeloupe,  to  die  for  France. 
When  they  amputated  his  leg  they  didn't 

[61] 


"MADEMOISELLE     MISS 


)  5 


discover   that    there   was    a    ball    in   his 
back.     I  found  it  when  I  took  Pavilion 
V.     But    then    it    was    too    late.     Every 
day  the  fever  mounted  higher,  and  every 
day  his  black  cheeks  grew  thinner;    but 
he  always  kept  saying  "It  is  going  well," 
in  the  sweet  caressing  tones  that  recalled 
early  lullabies.     Never  a  murmur,  always 
a  smile.     The  last  day  our  faithful  priest 
confessed    him  —  he    knew    just    enough 
French  for  that  —  and  it  was  moonlight 
when  he  went,  one  of  us  kneeling  either 
side.     After  Extreme  Unction  he  pressed 
my    hand;    and   suddenly   a   marvellous 
change  passed  over  his  face  as  if  it  had 
grown    white    and   luminous.     "Mama," 
he  murmured,  "Louis,"  then  fainter  and 
sweeter  —  "0  mon  bon  Dieu,"  and  it  was 
over,  and  nothing  remained  but  a  radiating 
smile.     I  went  to  lay  him  away  among 

[621 


( i 


MADEMOISELLE     MISS  " 


the  heroes ;  and  if  ever  I  doubted  how  to 
die,  my  black  pearl  fisher  from  Gaude- 
loupe  has  shown  me  the  way. 

They  brought  Oroya  in  half-unconscious, 
with  seven  suppurating  wounds.  It  was 
late,  and  I  did  the  first  examination  and 
dressing  unassisted.  The  next  day,  they 
overhauled  him  in  the  operating  room, 
decided  he  was  hopeless,  and  handed  him 
over  to  me.  It  is  one  of  the  few  dressings 
I  have  had  that  really  frightened  me ;  for 
it  was  so  long,  and  every  day  for  a  week  or 
more,  I  extracted  bits  of  cloth  and  frag- 
ments of  metal,  sometimes  at  a  terrifying 
depth.  Besides  my  patient  was  savage 
and  sullen,  all  that  is  ominous  in  the  Arab 
nature.  Gradually,  however,  the  suppura- 
tion ceased,  the  fever  fell,  and  suddenly 
one  day  Oroya  smiled. 

[63] 


''MADEMOISELLE     MISS" 

It  was  so  utterly  surprising  and  trans- 
forming that  we  all  rubbed  our  eyes. 
From  the  first  I  had  tried  to  win  his  con- 
fidence, but  I  was  always  repulsed  with  a 
kind  of  grave  scorn.  The  day  after  he 
smiled,  he  said  "Thanks,  Mama,"  when 
I  gave  him  an  orange,  and  when  No.  15 
asked  why  he  called  me  that,  he  explained 
in  his  weird  French  that  I  was  just  like 
a  Mama.  After  that  it  was  all  simple 
enough.  When  Croya  got  better  he  used 
to  help  to  do  his  own  dressing,  and  when 
Mama  had  a  minute  she'd  go  and  sit 
beside  him  and  he'd  lay  his  cheek  against 
her  arm,  and  teach  her  Arab  words.  As 
he  grew  better  he  was  crazy  to  play  some 
music.  So  when  Karabiche  went  to  Paris 
on  leave,  he  brought  back  a  flute ;  then 
Croya  would  half  sit  up  in  bed  with  his 
shaved  head  tipped  against  his  tempera- 

[64] 


i  i 


MADEMOISELLE    MISS 


ture  chart,  and  play  soft,  strange,  wild 
melodies  that  had  all  the  mysteiy  of  the 
Algerian  plains  in  them.  Every  night  the 
last  thing  I  did  was  to  slip  some  edible 
jest  into  his  hand  —  a  cold  orange  or  a 
V  sticky  bonbon,  or  cracker  crumbs  that 
got  lost  in  the  bed  unless  I  lit  my  electric 
lamp  to  find  them;  and  we'd  stifle  our 
amusement  so  as  not  to  wake  the  others. 
I  explained  to  the  Head  Surgeon  that  I 
had  tamed  my  Arab,  and  I  wanted  to  keep 
him  till  he  was  well  enough  to  go  back. 
But  then  that  heartless  General  B.  came 
and  sent  away  nearly  eveiy  one,  and  Oroya 
had  to  go. 

His  despair  was  poignantly  touching. 
Orientals  do  not  weep ;  but  he  wouldn't 
eat,  he  developed  a  temperature,  all  the 
light  left  those  wide,  brown  eyes,  and  he 
kept  repeating  all  day,  "  I  am  not  going  — 

[65J 


( ( 


MADEMOISELLE     MISS  " 


I  am  not  going  ! "  When  he  started  he  had 
a  ticket  pinned  to  his  cap  on  which  I  had 
written  careful  instructions  to  treat  him 
attentively.  I  asked  him  how  much 
money  he  had :  he  answered,  "I  am  very 
rich."  That  was  all  the  satisfaction  I  had 
till  I  found  his  pitiful  little  purse  with 
just  five  cents  inside.  I  put  in  two  dollars 
with  the  rest,  midst  incoherent  protesta- 
tions from  Croya.  I  tucked  him  in  his 
blankets  in  the  auto,  and  the  last  I  heard 
was  "Au  revoir.  Mama"  in  tones  that  I 
can  never  forget. 

He  reached  Toulouse  a  week  ago  and 
eveiy  day  since,  I've  had  a  card  written 
by  some  comrade  and  signed  "The  child 
who  does  not  forget  his  Mama."  One, 
illustrated,  had  a  rather  too  passionate 
couplet.  The  next  day  I  got  one  repre- 
senting a  child  who  says  to  its  mother, 

[66] 


(  c 


MADEMOISET.LE     MISS  " 


u 


Little  mother,  how  much  I  love  you," 
and  Croya  explains  that  it  was  a  comrade 
who  played  a  joke  ''  because  I  don't 
know  how  to  read.  Forgive  me,  Mama." 
Perhaps  Croya  is  the  only  son  I  shall 
ever  have,  but  I  thank  Heaven  for  giving 
me,  to  nurse  and  love,  this  poor  wild 
child  of  the  desert. 

But  now  —  to  come  back  to  utensils 
—  I  am  desperately  excited  over  the  future 
possession  of  rubber  bottles  and  cushions, 
and  oh  !  malted  milk  and  oil-cloth  !  That 
was  the  time  you  were  inspired.  You  ask 
what  is  most  needed.  For  the  moment, 
bandages,  wider  ones  and  flannel  ones  and 
medium  ones,  7  to  10  metres  long.  We  are 
washing  and  re-washing  our  bandages 
even  now. 

I  tell   you    that  here  on   the  front  it 

167] 


^'MADEMOISELLE    MISS" 

isn't  just  a  mere  nurse  that  is  required; 
send  the  finest,  most  versatile  woman  that 
America  or  any  other  country  can  pro- 
duce, and  her  fineness  and  her  gifts  will 
not  be  wasted.  To  be  ideally  adapted  to 
the  post  she  should  combine  a  glacial 
calm  with  the  unfailing  gayety  of  spring- 
time, and  a  sense  of  humor  alwa3^s ;  she 
should  possess  law  and  order  and  arrange- 
ment, the  powers  of  construction  and 
invention,  a  touch  as  light  as  a  watch- 
maker's, and  strength  to  carry  a  man 
alone  on  occasion ;  she  should  combine  tre- 
mendous initiative  with  excessive  caution, 
firmness  with  tenderness,  authority  with 
courtesy,  fearlessness  with  awe,  and  she 
ought  to  be  a  psychologist,  and  deeply 
learned  in  the  profession,  and  ready  to 
read  the  riot-act  when  called  for. 

[68] 


''MADEMOISELLE    MISS" 

Extract  from  letter  to  E.  D. 

Feb.  27/16. 

This  A.M.  a  telegram  came  to  expect  300 
wounded  this  evening.  The  first  time  I 
have  seen  my  salle  vacant.  And  all  those 
dear  things  I  have  been  wooing  back  to 
life  and  strength  were  bundled  off  to  the 
station.  All  the  best  reserves  of  France 
have  been  hurrying  to  Verdun  in  these 
days  to  meet  the  Crown  Prince's  attack. 
It  is  the  sixth  day  of  a  conflict,  they  say, 
unprecedented.  We  know  nothing  except 
that  every  frontier  town  is  crowded  with 
wounded,  and  the  battle  rages,  and  we 
have  retired  several  kilometres.  The  sus- 
pense is  agonizing. 

Feb.  27/16. 

All  alone  in  my  great  salle!  and  truth 
to  tell  "la  petite  mere,''  that's  what  the 
children  call  me  now  —  is  feeling  pretty 

[69] 


"MADEMOISELLE    MISS" 

desolate  as  she  looks  down  the  two  long 
rows  of  lifeless  beds,  all  lined  and  squared 
for  inspection,  and  onl}-  the  dull,  dim  roar 
of  the  guns  to  break  the  stillness.  The 
light  falls  softly  enough  through  tri- 
colored  folds,  the  stars  after  the  storm 
wink  kindly  through  the  windows,  there 
are  fresh  flowers  on  the  table,  and  a  smell 
of  eau  de  javel  and  cleanliness  eveiywhere 
—  a  scene  to  rejoice  an  inspector's  heart. 
Not  mine.  My  thoughts  follow  those 
poor  children,  so  rudely  routed  out  of 
their  beds  this  morning  and  sent  trundling 
off  in  carts  and  brouettes  —  anything  one 
can  find,  since  all  available  autos  are 
requisitioned  for  Verdun  —  to  the  station, 
to  make  room  for  the  latest  victims  of  the 
Crown  Prince.  And  I  see  my  poor 
"skeleton"  —  well-fattened  now,  but  pale 
with   distress,   and   far  too   frail   still   to 

[70] 


''MADEMOISELLE     MISS" 

undertake  a  48-hour  journey;  and  his 
next-door  neighbor  —  the  Tuffier  triumph 
—  "notre  chere  Jean^^  who  so  adores  pet- 
ting;   and  my  gold-haired,  pink-cheeked 

little  Sergeant  Vic the  prize  baby,  who 

looked  so  sweet  in  a  white  chemise  (I  con- 
fess to  the  weakness  of  reserving  the  best- 
looking  one  for  him),  and  who  was  more 
afraid  of  being  tickled  than  of  having  his 
fracture  dressed ;  —  and  all  the  others, 
perfectly  miserable  to  go,  but  resigned 
with  that  matchless  resignation  that  char- 
acterizes the  French  poilu.  The  Mede- 
cin-Chef  had  a  telegram  this  morning  de- 
manding every  bed  in  the  Ambulance, 
after  which  came  a  series  of  orders  and 
counter-ordere,  and  making  and  unmak- 
ing and  remaking  of  beds,  and  shifting 
and  replacing  of  patients,  enough  to  make 
us  all  lose  our  minds  if  we  hadn't  been 

[71] 


^'MADEMOISELLE    MISS" 

drilled  by  months  of  the  same  thing ;  with 
the  final  result  that  everybody  is  gone, 
including  several  operes  still  dull  with 
chloroform.  After  all  this  scuriy  and 
frantic  cleaning,  the  wounded  may  not 
arrive  for  a  day  or  two,  "Mais  dans  la  vie 
militaire  il  ne  faut  jamais  chercher  A  com- 
prendre.^'  Meantime,  this  Verdun  affair 
keeps  us  all  at  tremendous  tension :  — 
the  seventh  day  of  the  attack  and  stiU 
the  engines  of  destruction  hammer  as  they 
have  never  hammered  since  the  beginning 
of  time.  First  we  lost,  then  we  gained, 
now  no  one  knows  what  is  happening. 
There's  always  the  far-off  cannonade  to 
remind  us  of  the  epoch,  there's  generally 
an  aeroplane  sentry  overhead,  and  the 
other  night  going  home  it  was  really 
dramatic.  It  was  the  night  when  two 
entire  corps  d'armee  passed  through  Vitry 

[72] 


^'MADEA/[  GISELLE    MISS 


) ) 


—  a  continuous  stream  of  camions  from 
five  o'clock  in  the  afternoon  till  four  or 
five  the  next  morning.  I  had  to  cross  the 
line  of  march,  and  for  over  a  half  hour  I 
stood  watching,  fascinated,  forgetful  of 
the  cold,  and  hard  work  next  morning, 
while  one  after  one  the  autos  passed  at 
even  pace,  the  single  little  light  shielded 
above  to  trick  the  aeros;  and  the  cold, 
comfortless  inside  crowded  with  armed 
men  singing  and  jesting  as  though  it  were 
a  hay  ride  on  an  August  evening.  They 
had  no  idea  where  they  were  going,  most 
of  them  hadn't  even  a  cigarette,  it  was 
unbearably  cold  and  damp,  but  nobody 
seemed  to  care ;  they  were  all  going  to 
help  the  copains  together,  and  together 
they  sang  as  if  it  w^ere  aU  a  big  jest : 
"Auresde  ma  blonde,  tar  a,  tar  a,  tar  a,  ra  ra,^^ 
etc.,  etc.,  and  one  was  dangerously  near 

[73] 


''MADEMOISELLE     M  I  S  S  " 

having  the  sand-man  drowned  out  of  one's 
eyes.  Now  we  know  those  joy-riders  are 
all  at  Verdun,  and  many  of  them  will  never 
come  back ! 

March  13/16. 

The  last  you  heard  of  me  I  was  waiting 
for  wounded.  Well,  they  came  —  300  in 
one  night,  the  latest  victims  of  Verdun, 
in  such  a  condition  as  beggars  description, 
and  pales  all  my  former  experiences. 
We've  never  had  such  a  msh  as  this,  and 
the  Ambulance,  decimated  by  illness  as 
it  is  just  now,  was  quite  demoralized. 
Usually  the  rough  filth  of  the  trenches  is 
removed  in  the  depouillage,  but  on  that 
night  there  was  no  time  for  such  dainti- 
ness, and  they  were  dumped  right  into 
their  beds  with  all  manner  of  blood  and 
mud  caked  to  their  shivering  bodies. 
Imagine  my  despair  over  my  clean  sheets, 

[74] 


*' MADEMOISELLE    MISS  " 

so  hard  to  come  by !  But  such  despair 
was  too  trivial,  beside  the  horrors  one  was 
powerless  to  cope  with.  Both  operating 
rooms  worked  all  night  and  all  the  next 
day  and  most  of  the  next  night  (the  same 
equipe!)  but  in  spite  of  that  more  than 
one  life  was  lost  that  could  have  been 
saved  had  there  been  a  third.  Most  of 
my  wounded  arrived  with  their  first 
dressings  (provisionary)  which  had  been 
done  five  days  before,  —  even  in  winter 
you  may  know  what  that  means,  and  the 
kind  of  work  it  gave  me  —  for  the  next 
two  days.  One  poor  fellow,  an  Arab,  and 
as  beautiful  a  son  of  Islam  as  ever  ranged 
the  desert,  had  lain  two  days  with  an 
undressed  wound  in  the  leg  before  he  was 
picked  up.  As  soon  as  I  looked  at  his 
body  I  knew  it  was  gangrene  gazeuse,  but 
whether  too   far  advanced  for  interven- 

[75] 


*' MADEMOISELLE    MISS" 

tion  I  did  not  know.  The  pulse  was 
scarcely  perceptible.  I  tried  to  stoke 
him  with  caffeine  and  camphorated  oil 
while  I  waited  for  the  surgeon,  —  a  tragi- 
cally long  wait.  This  is  the  worst  of  these 
arrivals  en  masse,  for  one  is  proverbially 
alone  —  trusting  to  Heaven  and  a  hasty 
glance  that  none  of  the  other  newcomere 
needed  me  as  much.  When  B.  came  at 
last  he  said  the  gases  had  gained  the  ab- 
domen and  there  was  nothing  to  be  done. 
I  had  him  carried  into  the  salle  dHsolement, 
where  in  accordance  with  the  latest  adap- 
tation of  Darwin's  law,  I  should  have 
abandoned  him  for  the  othere.  But, 
.being  more  a  creature  of  sentiment  than 
reason  I  couldn't,  and  happily  my  duty 
didn't  require  it,  for  no  one  else  was  in 
extremis.  So  every  few  minutes  I  slipped 
in  to  do  something  perfectly  useless  that 

[76] 


'^MADEMOISELLE    MISS" 

might  perhaps  give  a  ray  of  comfort. 
He  was  conscious,  talked  disconnectedly 
of  home  and  mother,  wondered  if  I'd  let 
him  stay  vdih  me  a  day  or  two  before 
being  sent  to  the  interior:  ''I  am  so 
tired,"  he  said.  WTien  I  washed  the  blood 
from  his  face  and  hands,  half-furtively, 
for  here  they  ridicule  such  things,  he  took 
my  hands  and  kissed  them ;  then  I  gave 
him  half  an  injection  of  morphine,  unable 
to  bear  the  thought  of  his  suffering  alone 
and  knowing  no  one  would  go  to  him, 
and  left  toward  dawn  to  get  a  few  hours' 
sleep  before  the  next  day's  engagement. 
"You  are  going,  Mlle.f"  "Yes,  but  you 
must  be  good  and  sleep  well.  I'll  come 
back  early,  and  then  we'll  write  a  nice 
long  letter  to  your  mother."  He  made  a 
movement  as  if  to  detain  me.  Then 
changing    to    Arab  —  "Alesh,"    he    mur- 

[77] 


i  i 


MADEMOISELLE     MISS  " 


mured,  which  is  equivalent  to  our  "God's 
will  be  done"  —  and  smiled  faintly.  A 
few  hours  later  when  I  opened  the  door, 
the  bed  was  empty  and  only  a  ghastly 
pool  where  he  had  lain.  —  But  I  mustn't 
tell  you  any  more  of  such  tales. 

March  14/16. 

All  my  infirmiers  were  ill  at  once,  and 
I  only  had  two  WTetched  greenhorns 
through  the  next  week  (a  little  too  igno- 
rant even  to  peel  our  daily  cartload  of 
potatoes).  With  such  guests  you  can 
imagine  I  had  no  chance  to  write  even  a 
card.  Wild  work  with  thirty  dressings  a 
day,  and  everj^body  to  wash  from  head  to 
foot,  and  beds  to  make  and  a  good  deal 
of  the  carrying,  beside  the  temperatures 
and  usual  details,  and  preparing  the 
materials. 

[78] 


"A4ADEM0ISELLE    MISS 


5  5 


Just  one  word.  In  all  these  months  I 
don't  believe  I've  ever  mentioned  the  ex- 
quisite compensation  that  comes  almost 
daily  in  the  shape  of  cards  and  letters 
from  my  children  —  often  very  illiterate, 
but  so  fuU  of  heart  —  "Chere  petite  mere/' 
they  begin,  "Ma  bonne  petite  maman/' 
"Notre  gentille  Mademoiselle  Miss/'  etc. 
And  Gaston,  you  remember  my  naughty, 
adorable  Gaston?  writes  me  regularly 
from  the  trenches.  Yesterday,  I  got  an- 
other poem,  written  under  a  bombardment, 
decorated  with  crossed  swords,  —  croix  de 
guerre,  —  veiy  chic,  entitled  "Non,  Verdun 
Jamais!''  He's  the  best  patriot  in  the 
republic,  is  Gaston,  and  my,  how  he  does 
love  to  trumpet  victoiy,  —  and  curses  on 
the  Kaiser ! 


[79] 


(  c 


MADEMOISELLE    MISS" 


March. 

...  I  never  finished  the  story  of 
Capt.  M.  Occasionally,  I'd  hear  a  firm 
step  along  the  salle,  and  a  clear  voice  call 
out  —  "Is  Mile.  Miss  visible?"  and  there 
he  stood  at  the  door  of  my  cage  {salle  de 
pansements  is  too  dignified),  good  to  see, 
and  bracing  as  a  channel  breeze ;  lithe 
and  muscular,  in  a  uniform  that  fitted, 
with  a  face  absolutely  handsome  because  of 
its  honest  ugliness,  and  high-bred  withal. 
One  day,  he  said,  "What  would  you  like 
for  your  blesses  ?  You  can  have  anj^hing 
you  like!"  I  gasped,  and  stammered 
somethmg  about  gum-drops  or  cigarettes 

—  "Is  that  all?  Wouldn't  you  like  a 
gramophone  ?    That's  better  than  a  piano 

—  no  work  for  you  —  and  if  you  move 
on  you  can  take  it  with  you."  Would  I? 
I  almost  wept  right  there  as  I  thought  of 

[80] 


*' MADEMOISELLE    MISS 


)  > 


the  joy  of  the  children  who  never  have 
anything  to  reheve  the  monotony,  except 
some  occasional  silly  prank  of  mine  that 
is  never  musical.  So  it  was  arranged 
that  I  should  have  one  straight  from 
England  with  all  the  latest  records,  and 
meantime  he'd  "steal  a  march  on  the 
boys"  and  lend  us  theirs.  The  next  day 
he  appeared  with  50  francs  worth  of 
cigarettes  and  the  gramophone !  You 
may  believe  we  worked  those  records  as 
they  never  had  been  worked  before,  with 
such  joyous  results.  It  was  rather  a 
shock  when  the  very  day  after  came  a 
telegram  —  ominously  prophetic  of  Ver- 
dun —  that  ordered  the  St.  John's  Am- 
bulance away  —  "destination  inconnue." 
Captain  M.  came  to  say  good-by  and 
get  the  gramophone.  On  leaving  he  gave 
me  100  francs  to  "buy  paper  for  them  to 

[81] 


"MADEMOISELLE    MISS 


J ) 


write  to  their  best  girls." — Just  one 
week  later,  Sunday  noon,  as  I  crossed  the 
court,  my  gallant  Englishman  appeared. 
He  had  come  all  the  way  from  Bar-le-Duc 
to  wish  me  good-day.  He  admired  my 
stock  of  bandages  and  I  made  him  up  a 
package,  and  meantime  we  had  a  good 
talk  about  the  world  in  general.  It  was 
good  to  talk  to  some  one  who  really  thinks 
and  feels.  That  was  the  last  I  saw  of 
him,  nor  have  I  heard.  I  hope  with  all 
my  heart  those  bandages  weren't  prophetic. 
Well,  I'm  going  to  Paris  —  after  six 
months  here  day  after  to-morrow.  I  can't 
believe  it,  hate  to  go,  am  almost  afraid 
to,  as  if  the  ennui  of  separation  from  work 
were  a  beast  that  could  devour  me.  But 
there  is  another  big  evacuation,  and  as 
there  is  a  tie-up  somewhere  in  the  trans- 
portation system  now  that  we  depend  on 

[82] 


"MADEMOISELLE    MISS" 

Verdun  instead  of  Champagne,  it  is  a 
strategic  moment  to  take  a  breathing 
space  and  arrange  my  affairs  in  Paris. 

Paris,  March  19/16. 

After  exactly  six  months  to-day  since  I 
quitted  Paris,  behold  me  once  more  in 
the  arms  of  the  enchantress.  Her  em- 
brace is  a  bit  stifling  and  her  charms  none 
too  vivid,  but  then  I  haven't  had  much 
chance  to  fall  mider  her  spell,  pressed  as 
I  am  by  the  affairs  of  the  moment  and 
haunted  by  the  dear  wistful  faces  I  have 
left. 

Since  you've  always  been  so  eager  for 
details  of  my  life  "on  duty"  perhaps  you'd 
like  to  know  w^hat  happens  when  I'm  off 
it,  and  why,  of  aU  times,  when  this  affair 
of  Verdun  is  at  its  height  I  should  take 
an  opportunity  to  slip  out  of  my  trench. 

[83] 


( ( 


A/[ADEMOISELLE     MISS  " 


The  truth  is  that  I  am  the  proud  and 
swift  vanquisher  of  the  most  gorgeous 
attack  of  grippe  you  ever  saw.  I  got 
the  best  of  it  with  a  celerity  that  should 
win  me  a  doctor's  degree  at  least,  and 
a  decoration  for  my  good  vieille  who  at- 
tended to  my  wants  with  an  enthusiastic 
faithfulness. 

Behold  me,  then,  restored  but  shaky, 
with  that  indefinite  feeling  in  one's  pro- 
pellers that  follows  a  fever.  I  returned  to 
my  "service"  but  didn't  feel  brilliant, 
and  when  I  heard  there  was  prospect  of 
another  evacuation,  having  mattere  to 
discuss  with  Mme.  Camot,  I  concluded  it 
was  the  time  appointed  to  migrate,  if  I 
wanted  to  be  fresh  for  the  coming  strain, 
which  will  be  fierce.  The  Medecin-Chef, 
who  has  never  failed  to  show  me  his  con- 
fidence and  esteem,  wanted  to  give  me  an 

[84] 


''MADEMOISELLE    MISS" 

unlimited  "permission,"  with  much  advice 
to  "stoke  up"  for  the  summer.  But  I 
chose  to  fix  10  days,  which  I  can  prolong 
later  if  I  choose. 

My  birthday  party,  which  couldn't  be 
held  on  the  right  day  because  I  was  ill, 
we  had  on  Friday  afternoon  —  two  big 
cakes,  all  soft  and  creamy  inside,  with  a 
candle  for  each  hlesse.  We  had  it  just 
after  supper,  for  there's  little  time  for 
mirth  and  trifling,  and  it  being  nearly 
dark  with  lovely  stars  outside,  the  little 
constellation  on  the  table  showed  up 
bravely.  It's  astonishing  how  these  chil- 
dren, old  and  young,  love  anything  that 
shines.  Indeed,  it  was  their  delight  over 
the  tree  at  Christmas,  that  made  me  think 
of  having  a  birthday  party — a  fete,  as 
you  know,  that  I  usually  prefer  to  sup- 
press.    But  it  was  excuse  for  candles,  and 

[85] 


*^  MADEMOISELLE    MISS 


5  > 


no  time  for  private  aversions,  and  I  admit, 
I  never  saw  such  a  successful  party. 
Even  the  two  fractures  that  groan  all  the 
time,  and  the  smashed-up  estragale  who 
expects  to  lose  his  foot,  forgot  to  be  miser- 
able; and  the  big  butcher  who  is  furious 
with  all  of  us  because  we  don't  relieve 
him  of  his  left  arm  (he  swears  it's  no  use 
to  let  a  joint  like  that  grow  any  longer, 
and  treats  our  really  good  and  conscien- 
tious surgeon  for  a  fool  every  time  he 
sees  him)  softened  to  a  smile. 

Then  on  Saturday  morning,  I  took  the 
early  train.  Don't  imagine  I  lack  the 
protection  of  the  Church.  It  awaited  me 
at  the  station  in  the  shape  of  good  Pasteur 
Saintenac,  who  represents  the  Protestant 
persuasion  at  the  Ambulance  in  a  mild 
and  godly  way.  For  the  rest,  he  does  the 
work  of  a  simple  infirmier  auxiliaire,  runs 

[86] 


<  I 


MADEMOISELLE    MISS'' 


errands,  takes  the  guard,  and  washes 
dishes  very  submissively,  and  gives  you 
the  impression  that  he  would  court  per- 
secution "as  unto  the  Lord."  When  he 
does  the  dishes  in  my  salle,  if  I  have  a 
possible  moment,  I  always  go  and  help, 
with  an  instinctive  effort  to  equalize  the 
mifitness  of  things.  Pasteur  S.  was  awfully 
concerned  about  my  going  off  alone.  If 
the  recent  birth  of  his  infant  son  hadn't 
put  his  mfe  in  the  impossibihty  of  receiv- 
ing ^dsitol•s,  he  would  have  insisted  on  my 
accepting  his  humble  hospitality.  Utterly 
useless  to  explain  that  Paris  was  a  sort 
of  home  to  me,  that  I  had  friends  there, 
and  much  to  do.  He  must  needs  meet  me 
on  the  platform  with  his  hands  full  of 
letters  addressed  to  pastors  and  other 
good  people  in  Paris,  to  be  delivered  in 
person!    In  these  letters  he  exhorts  his 

[87] 


i  i 


MADEMOISELLE     MISS  " 


friends  to   surround   me  with  sympathy 
and  Christian  affection. 

It  was  a  lovely  morning,  soft  and 
silvered  with  light  mists  that  veiled  the 
rising  sun.  I  had  forgotten  the  world 
was  so  beautiful,  that  spring  tints  were  so 
delicious,  that  the  forms  of  trees  and 
brooks  and  clustering  villages  were  so 
alluring.  I  assure  you  that  an  optical 
alteration  takes  place  when  you  have 
looked  at  nothing  earnestly  but  white 
sheets,  alas !  too  often  gray,  and  pale 
faces  and  red  wounds  for  a  long  time,  and 
your  retina  gets  sensitive  to  beauty  in  a 
way  that  is  amazing.  At  Chalons  there 
came  into  my  compartment  —  first  class, 
if  you  please,  which  is  rather  handsome  of 
the  Government  —  a  lieutenant  of  the 
251st  Inf.,  going  home  on  five  days'  leave. 
Of  course  we  began  to  talk  about  Verdun, 

[88] 


^'MADEMOISELLE    MISS" 

and  if  I  had  any  doubts  about  a  victory 
final  and  complete,  this  stalwart  soldier, 
fresh  from  the  trenches,  was  ready  to 
dissipate  them.  He'd  "seen  war"  at  less 
than  50  metres,  from  the  start,  and  more- 
over his  wife  and  children,  mother  and 
sisters  had  been  held  prisoners  in  the 
invaded  district  for  over  a  year,  but  "Nous 
les  aurons,  les  Bodies  /"he  kept  reiterating 
with  a  conviction  that  couldn't  be  doubted. 
Altogether  it  was  a  profitable  journey; 
and  most  surprising,  we  arrived  nearly  on 
schedule  time.  At  the  beginning  of  the 
rue,  the  trains  sometimes  took  twenty- 
two  hours  between  Paris  and  Vitry. 

March  21/16. 

Well,  the  charm  of  the  Charmer  is 
beginning  to  tell,  and  I  keep  repeating  to 
myself  what  you  so   often  used  to  say 

[89] 


"MADEMOISELLE    A4ISS" 

when  we  went  out  together  —  ''Was  there 
ever  such  a  place  as  Paris?"  It  is  a  par- 
ticularly rare  moment,  too — clouds  and  soft 
sun,  the  ghost  of  a  green  shimmer  along 
that  most  triumphant  of  all  vistas,  up  the 
Elysian  Fields,  violets  and  jonquils  at 
every  street  corner,  and  flags  and  trophies 
aflutter  everywhere  in  honor  of  our  illus- 
trious visitors.  For  yesterday  the  General- 
issimo Cadorna  arrived,  amidst  a  furor  of 
"Viva  V Italia.^'  To-day  it  is  the  turn  of 
Serbia's  illustrious  prince  to  drown  his 
misfortune  in  sympathy  and  champagne. 
To  my  great  disgust  I  could  see  neither  of 
them,  but  the  Red  Cross  is  an  absorbing 
profession,  and  if  one  is  to  be  worthy  of 
its  insignia,  one  might  as  well  make  up 
one's  mind  not  to  do  or  think  about  any- 
thing else.  All  day  I've  spent  chasing 
about  seeing  officers  and  secretaries  and 

[90] 


''MADEMOISELLE    MISS" 

dignitaries,  with  rather  better  results  than 
one  generally  gets  when  affairs  are  taken 
out  in  talking.  Also,  I've  had  opened  my 
cases  recently  arrived  from  you  and  your 
friends,  to  see  what  they  contained ;  after 
which  they  will  be  closed  ready  to  follow 
me  to  the  scene  of  action.  They'd  just 
come  a  little  while  ago,  so  no  time  has 
been  lost.  Oh,  what  a  harvest !  When 
I  saw  those  dear  little  wash-cloths  and 
hot  water  bags  and  rings,  and  oil-cloth 
and  malted  milk,  I  almost  wept ;  and  what 
a  blessing  to  have  all  that  cotton  and 
gauze !  The  coming  months  wiU  melt  it 
fast  enough,  and  Heaven  only  knows 
where  the  material  is  to  come  from  to 
close  up  all  the  wounds  that  will  be  made 
before  next  autumn.  Thank  God,  there 
is  you  to  "hold  up  my  hands"  as  you  call 
it,  that  would  too  often  drop  lifeless  in 

[91] 


''MADEMOISELLE    MISS 


?  5 


sheer  despair.  Also  I  went  to  the  Comite 
des  Secours  Americains  —  a  spacious,  ele- 
gant interior  with  high  windows  looking 
toward  the  Seine,  and  the  prettiest  bevy 
of  busy  stenographers.  We  do  things  well 
and  no  mistake,  as  I  took  pains  to  tell  the 
nice,  drawly  Georgian  sub-secretary  who 
attended  to  me.  But  the  best  thing  I 
did  during  the  day  was  to  arrange  with  a 
deputy  to  see  Godard  about  certain  things 
and  acts  of  the  Service  de  Sante  on  the 
front. 

Paris,  March  23/16. 

With  the  instinct  of  self-preservation 
(not  to  say  revolt)  that  you've  seen  of  old, 
after  a  shopping  bout,  I've  fled  to  this 
graceful  rotunda  overlooking  the  chimney 
pots  to  restore  my  scattered  faculties  with 
a  cup  of  China  tea.  There  are  soft  blue 
flowers  on  the  table,  the  tea  found  the 

[92] 


**  MADEMOISELLE    MISS  " 

"right  spot,"  and  I  have  a  satisfying  sense 
of  commissions  finished,  which  gives  me 
the  right  to  laze  for  the  rest  of  the  after- 
noon, 0,  the  luxury  of  "staying  put" 
and  doing  nothing  !  Moreover  there  is  the 
Eiffel  Tower  all  dim  and  fantastic  off 
yonder  against  an  opal  sky,  standing 
guardian  like  over  the  safety  of  Paris, 
sentinel  at  her  aerial  portal,  and  challeng- 
ing all  sorts  of  vague  verses  that  are  hesi- 
tating there  at  the  back  of  my  brain.  Let 
them  lie !  I'm  sure  I'd  trip  up  on  their 
feet,  and  it's  much  more  profitable  to 
have  a  good  cosy  chat  with  you,  and  tell 
you  all  my  intimate  commonplaces,  than 
dawdle  over  a  rhyme. 

A  heightened  morale  is  gaining  all  along 
the  front  —  of  hopeful  significance.  The 
spirit  of  the  men  from  Verdun  is  infinitely 
brighter    than    those    of    Champagne    in 

[93] 


^'MADEMOISELLE    iMISS" 

September.  Not  that  the  latter  were  de- 
pressed, but  these  have  a  hght  on  their 
faces  as  if  they  really  saw  the  end  of  the 
tunnel.     God  grant  it ! 

Thank  you  foi-  "The  Hill-Top  on  the 
Marne."  It  is  a  good  experience,  spiritedly 
sketched,  and  I  like  the  lady's  pluck.  It 
was  diverting  to  read  English  again  after 
so  long. 

The  lights  in  the  boulevard  below  have 
begun  to  come  out,  and  the  Eiffel  Tower 
has  faded  into  the  mist. 

April  1st,  Vitry. 

I  am  ecstatic  over  getting  back  to  work ! 
Now  that  my  Parisian  fling  is  over,  I 
might  as  well  own  that  it  was  a  terrific 
strain  on  my  nerves.  I  discovered  that  a 
civilian  life  is  unhealthy  for  me,  and  that 
I   thrive   under  the   banner  of  the   Red 

[94] 


I  i 


MADEMOISELLE    MISS" 


Cross.  Since  peace  doesn't  appear  im- 
minent that  is  an  encouraging  discovery ! 
There  were  eleven  of  the  original  Verdmi 
group  in  the  salle  on  my  return  and  you 
should  have  heard  the  shout  of  welcome. 
It  was  a  regular  fete  at  ever}^  bedside. 
"When  I  got  down  toward  the  end  of  the 
salle  I  found  one  beardless  hero  lying  beam- 
ing in  his  bed,  with  two  tiny  lighted  candles 
stuck  to  the  rail  above  his  head,  the 
candles  of  my  birthday  cake  "to  cele- 
brate your  return,  little  mother  —  you 
must  never  leave  us  again." 

You  ask  about  "the  skeleton."  You 
will  be  glad  to  know  he  is  at  Toulouse,  on 
the  high  road  to  walking.  He  writes 
that  the  work  I  did  on  those  poor  turned- 
down  feet  was  lastingly  satisfactory.  He 
had  double  anthrotomie  of  the  knees,  and 
when  he  came  the  insteps  were  bent  like 

[95] 


( ( 


MADEA/[OISELLE    MISS" 


a  ballet-dancer's.  Even  admitting  his 
recoveiy,  which  seemed  impossible,  he 
would  be  obliged  to  go  about  on  the  points 
of  his  toes,  the  knees  being  permanently 
stiff.  At  first,  after  "peeling"  with  every 
conceivable  dissolvent,  I  began  just  the 
slightest  effleurissage  which  developed  into 
massage,  and  then  I  invented  an  apparatus. 
Now  don't  laugh !  any  how  it  straightened 
out  the  difficulty.  A  board  about  14 
inches  square  was  padded  with  cotton  and 
swathed  neatly  in  a  bandage.  This  was 
laid  vertical  against  the  soles  of  the  feet, 
which  I  tried  to  place  as  nearly  as  possible 
in  a  normal  position.  Then  I  attached 
a  bandage  (having  no  elastic,  which  would 
have  been  better)  to  the  head  rail  of  the 
bed  on  one  side,  passed  it  around  the 
board  and  up  the  other  side,  fastening  it 
again  to  the  rail  as  taut  as  possible.     The 

[96] 


^'MADEMOISELLE    MISS 


?  5 


knot  was  tightened  twice  a  day.  Result 
—  in  two  weeks  those  refractoiy  feet  had 
regained  a  proper  attitude.  You  who  Kve 
in  the  land  of  perfect  apparatus  will  smile, 
but  just  remember  that  Ambulance  1/2 
lacks  several  things. 

Easter-eve. 

Great  merriment  this  evening.  The 
Captain's  gramophone  is  in  full  swing 
and  thirty-two  pairs  of  eyes  are  dancing 
with  delight  and  thirty-two  pairs  of  hands, 
many  bandaged,  are  feebly  beating  time 
to  the  "Policeman's  Holiday  One  Step," 
which  is  equally  appreciated  with  Beetho- 
ven's "Leonore."  It  makes  a  relief  after 
Good  Friday  with  its  fasting  and  general 
solemnity. 

Easter  Sunday. 

A  happy  Easter !  If  you've  thought  of 
me  this  sunny  morning,  and  I'm  sure  you 

[97] 


( i 


MADEMOISELLE    MISS" 


have  —  you've  probably  guessed  that  behe 
s' amuse.  So  you  wouldn't  have  been  sur- 
prised an  hour  ago  when  the  Medecin- 
CheJ",  finding  my  office  momentarily  con- 
verted into  a  work-shop  with  ribbons  and 
bows  all  over,  ejaculated  in  a  puzzled 
way,  "Americans  must  remain  little  girls 
a  long  while  to  imagine  that  grown-up 
poilus  could  be  amused  in  that  way." 
To  which  I  replied  (not  being  in  the  least 
afraid  of  him)  that  he  was  evidently  no 
psychologist,  and  he  retreated,  laughing 
good  naturedly,  and  shaking  his  head  as 
if  it  were  hopeless  to  think  of  educating 
an  American  Indian !  But  if  the  sight  of 
all  those  nests  disturbed  so  his  ideas  of 
military  fitness,  it  had  a  different  effect 
on  the  "children,"  who  applauded  and 
shouted  as  if  it  were  the  most  natural 
surprise  in  the  world.     Too  bad,  I  can't 

[98] 


^'MADEMOISELLE    MISS 


J  > 


send  you  a  model,  but  here's  the  plan: 
a  white  sugar  hen  with  a  pink  comb  and 
pompous  tail,  and  a  favor  of  the  Allies 
round  her  neck,  sits  serenely  upon  eight 
excellent  chocolate  eggs  in  a  nest  woven 
out  of  Boston  excelsior,  and  lined  with 
cotton  and  arbor  vitse.  Multiply  this  by 
thirty-three  and  you  have  the  results  of 
last  night's  cheerful  labor  which  received 
an  even  more  radiant  welcome  than  I  ex- 
pected. Such  a  holding  out  of  bandaged 
hands,  such  a  gobbling  of  hens  with  their 
feathers  on  and  eggs  in  their  shells,  such 
a  general  vein  of  satisfaction  as  throbs 
through  the  salle  now  while  the  gramo- 
phone goes  round,  as  would  convince  you 
that  the  principal  role  of  a  nurse,  after 
all,  is  not  to  mop  up  blood  and  put  on 
bandages,  but  to  lie  awake  thinking  up  such 
nonsense   as   this.      (I'd   not   dare   make 

[99] 


*^  MADEMOISELLE    MISS" 

such  an  extravagant  remark  to  any  but 
you,  for  they'd  be  sure  to  say  I  carry  my 
responsibiHties  too  lightly,  but  you  know 
better.)  I  have  to  make  a  confession 
though.  When  my  poor  little  ampute 
saw  his  nest,  he  smiled  for  the  first  time 
since  he  came,  six  weeks  ago,  and  pled  so 
to  be  allowed  to  eat  an  egg  that  I  couldn't 
resist,  despite  his  careful  liquid  diet. 
What  was  my  horror  ten  minutes  later  to 
come  back  and  find  that  he  had  screwed 
around  —  Heaven  knows  how  —  and 
gotten  hold  of  the  hen  that  I  had  thought 
safely  out  of  reach,  and  left  nothing  of  her 
but  the  ribbon  collar !  Its  only  sugar  after 
all,  but  I  have  compunctions  over  the 
size,  and  the  coloring  matter  of  the  comb 
and  tail.  So  far,  however,  the  change  of 
diet  seems  to  agree  f  amousty,  and  has  given 
him  the  courage  to  look  at  pictures  for 

[100] 


''MADEMOISELLE    MISS  " 

the  first  time.  It  was  a  bit  hard  not  to 
be  able  to  go  to  church  to-day.  As  you 
so  often  deplore  I'm  not  much  of  an 
orthodox.  But  there  are  times  when  it's 
pretty  much  of  a  necessity.  On  Good 
Friday  though,  in  lieu  of  the  three-hour 
service  I  managed  to  spend  two  hours  in 
my  room  between  twelve  and  three,  and 
have  a  long  think  and  a  prayer  which  did 
me  a  world  of  good.  I  send  you  a  puzzle 
which  was  made  to  surprise  me  by  a  most 
adorable  patient  w^ho  managed  to  trace 
these  intricate  lines  with  a  bandaged  hand. 
Oh  the  piles  and  piles  of  cards  and  letters 
that  I  have  to  show  you  when  the  war  is 
over !  I've  not  sent  any  lest  they  be  lost ; 
and  indeed  when  my  collection  began  to  be 
an  encumbrance,  for  fear  of  trusting  them 
to  the  post  I  gave  them  into  Monsieur 
Bardy's  care,  when  he  came  to  visit  his  son. 

[101] 


i  i 


MADEMOISELLE    MISS" 


The  salle  is  full  and  I  have  a  series  of 
contusions  which  means  many  massages 
to  develop  my  muscles.  My  little  am- 
pule is  out  of  danger.  So  all  goes  well, 
and  to  crown  everything  the  weather  is 
glorious,  though  the  last  two  days  have 
been  painfully  hot  at  noon,  and  give 
ominous  foretaste  of  summer  in  these  frail 
barracks.  It  will  be  as  rigorous  as  winter, 
and  the  wounds  already  need  more  vigil- 
ance.    So  far  though  it  is  all  right. 


[102] 


The  American  Fund  for  French  Wounded, 
organized  to  purchase  and  forward  Hospital 
supplies  to  the  Front,  working  in  closest  co- 
operation with  the  French  Government,  is  able 
to  make  deliveries  within  a  few  weeks  from 
date  of  shipment. 

Subscriptions  will  be  gratefully  received  at 
either  of  these  addresses  : 

Miss  Edith  Bangs,  Chairman 

American  Fund  for  French  Wounded 
306  Boylston  St.,  Boston 

Miss  Anne  Morgan,  Treasurer 

American  Fund  for  French  Wounded 
7  East  38th  St. 

New  York  City 


u 


THE  LIBRARY 
UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 

Santa  Barbara 


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Series  9482 


AA      000  314  237 


